Written In Ice
by District11-Olive
Summary: "There is still so much to plan and so many factors to decide upon. It might be that our first major obstacle has been jumped, but these Games are not over. Not by a long shot. "Welcome to the 76th Hunger Games!
1. Frozen Part One

**Skylines and Turnstiles by My Chemical Romance**

_It reaches in and tears your flesh apart  
As ice cold hands rip into your heart_

* * *

_Everything I have been working up to for thirty years is finally within reach, _I think to myself as I step quietly through the mansion, a cup of steaming tea between my hands. The halls are bright and through my nose enters the distant smell of lavender, a scent that the President has taken a particular liking to. Outside I can see the light dusting of snow that has coated the world outside President Paylor's mansion, the dead trees of the garden taking on a rather pleasant appearance for the first time since autumn.

My gaze settles on a white rabbit that has nearly been lost in the blank canvas of snow, if only its tracks did not leave a trail of darkness in its wake. The creature raises its head in alarm and stares at me through the window, its cold eyes seeming to look directly at me. But before long the animal hops off, the only memory of the rabbit being the deep tracks that it has left in the otherwise perfect white blanket.

I step away from the vast window and continue down the hallway, the teacup in my hands nearly shaking with the anticipation. _Just a few more days_, I tell myself, _and then this, all of this, will pay off. _My hand extends when I reach an enormous wooden door that, unlike most other doors in the mansion, remains sealed shut, for the President is ill. I knock several times before I hear a soft call from within that ushers me into the room. An Avox opens the door and hustles me inside before closing the door swiftly behind me.

The image before me is unchanging from the day before, President Paylor lies in her bed inside the darkened room. All the curtains have been closed to allow for sleep, though I know she has gotten none. Her wrinkled cheeks look caved in and her entire face glows a pale white in the darkness. The bed sheets have been tucked up to her chin and her pillows fluffed to allow for her optimum comfort, though despite this her eyes remain locked open, burdened down with sickness and general exhaustion.

"President Paylor," I whisper and nod my head respectively in her direction. "The doctor has sent up another cup of that remedy tea she made you yesterday. It already seems to be working as I can see the color returning to your cheeks."

Anyone who took even so much as a single glance at the bedridden woman could tell that my words bore no truth, but my position required me to have a certain level of respect for the President. No matter that I had never agreed with her decisions, no matter that she had rejected each of my ideas to recreate Panem the way it was always meant to be. I must speak to her with kindness, no matter how fake.

"Thank you, Cyrus, your words are kind," she whispers through chapped lips, lifting the porcelain teacup to her mouth and taking a slow sip. "Now if you don't mind, I should rest."

I nod respectfully and exit the room, closing the door behind me as I do.

_Only a few more days. _

* * *

I sit at the long wooden desk with my feet propped up against the windowsill. I hear voices behind me but pay them no attention. Instead I stare out the window at the dreary background, slush and sleet covering the ground around the mansion. The mansion that now bears my name instead of Paylor's. President Cyrus, oh how I enjoy the sound of that. It was obvious once Paylor was announced dead that I would be the one to take her place. As Vice-President it was the only perk of the job, just one step away from the seat of power.

The murmurs behind me gain my attention and I spin around in my chair to face my visitors. A stout man with long sideburns stands closest to me and behind him a man dressed completely in black and a woman with piercing blue eyes. Finally the stout man speaks.

"Word has gotten out to some about your intentions, President Cyrus," he says, gulping each time his words cease. "I have received word that some do not agree with your plans."

"And?"

"Do you think it is wise to begin this so soon, it has only been a few months, sir," he mutters.

"Everything will go on as planned, if anyone chooses to oppose my decisions they will face punishment as usual."

"But sir, don't y-"

"Enough, you have shared your information and I have given you my decision. Tomorrow I will announce my plans in front of all of Panem," I interrupt. "You are dismissed."

* * *

The audience before me is restless, though I don't know what for. Surely my plans have made their way into their ears, but should they not be excited. Panem will return to its former glory, as it was meant to be with a shining Capitol and twelve surrounding districts. Paylor has ruined Panem, after the Mockingjay Rebellion all the work the President Snow and those that preceded him did has gone to waste over the past thirty years. But not anymore, the districts would know their place now, they would not try and rise up again for equality. All will be as it should be, with the Capitol in total control and the districts working for redemption for all of their rebellious behaviors.

`Welcome, welcome everyone," I begin, my voice echoing through the streets of the Capitol to be picked up and carried off into the districts. "I am here to undo the faults that have been done by President Paylor and her viziers."

The entire area around me is silent as the citizens take in each word exiting my mouth. I allow myself a small smile as I search through the crowds of people, wondering which will be the ones that supposedly oppose my position.

"The Hunger Games were a symbol both of payment and of bonding. Each year the twelve districts of Panem were brought together in celebration of the Capitol's mercy and in remembrance of the Rebellion led by the districts that wreaked havoc on our great nation. Another uprising was caused thirty years prior to today, and Paylor allowed this destruction to go unpunished." I continue, my voice growing with each statement. "Well no longer! From this day forward, the Hunger Games will be reinstated. Not only as a remembrance of the Dark Days, but also to ensure that no further destruction ensues such as the recent Mockingjay Rebellion."

The murmurs among the people are unmistakeable but with one wave of my hand silence again except for the steady breathing of my people and the beating of my own heart. I clear my throat and pause to allow this information to sink in before continuing on.

"Preparations will be made for the 76th Annual Hunger Games to begin within months. I trust you will all be watching and waiting in anticipation." I say smoothly. "And may the odds be _ever _in your favour."

An outburst of yells comes soon after I am led off the stage by a small army of Peacekeepers. Damon was right, there are Capitol citizens who do not wish for Panem to go back to how it was before the Mockingjay Rebellion. I direct the guards to the nearest window and when I look down, the scene in front of me shakes me.

Below me in the City Circle, I watch brawls break out between citizen and Peacekeeper. People screaming and yelling but I can't hear their curses.

For the first time I really ask myself, was this the right time to do this?

* * *

Over the past few days, reports of fires and protests have stormed in at all hours, leaving me irritable and without sleep. Many have advised me to do something to stop the Third impending Rebellion, but this part of my plan has not been thought out. I made room for small protests, but not for Rebellion in its full.

Last night a bomb was set off in the City Circle, few were injured but the blast was felt even in the dead of sleep I had managed. Something has to be done, and it has to be done quickly before this whole things gets out of hand.

"Sir, I have news."

I spin around in my chair to face the stout man, who I have come to know as Damon. I stare at him intently for a moment, in the past few days he has not once brought me good news of any kind. Though I do appreciate the information he gives me, he is becoming symbolic of bad luck for me. "Yes, Damon?"

"District Twelve is rebelling-"

"Yes I know, I sent the Peacekeepers over to deal with the situation yesterday."

"I know, but I have received word that they are not surrendering. I have the Head Peacekeeper on the phone, he wishes to speak with you," he hands me the phone that had been hidden out of my view beneath the desk. I pick it up and utter a simple hello before the voice on the other end begins talking rapidly.

"Sir! Twelve isn't surrendering, they have secured weapons and are fighting back. I'm not sure how much longer we can hold them without risking more losses."

"What do you suggest we do then?" I hiss into the speaker.

"If they won't surrender, destroy them. Make an example of them to ensure that no other districts attempt this. If Twelve can hold their own against us than there is no telling what the others might do," I say as strongly as I can. He mumbles his agreement and is about to end the call when I give him one further instruction. "Don't leave any survivors, not like with Thirteen."

I hang up the call immediately, slamming the phone down onto my desk after pressing the ending button. "Sir?"

"Yes?" I demand, not in the mood for any further disturbances.

"Are you sure this was wise?"

* * *

The cameras are placed around me as I sit stoically at my desk. It was decided that the best way to reach the public was through television, lest I risk my own safety.

Meetings had taken place over the past couple of days, delegates all trying to give me an answer to all of the problems that faced me. It was discovered that only about five percent of the Capitolites opposed the idea of the reinstated Hunger Games. That meant that I only had to quiet those few. Many people had tried to sway me in favour of their ideas, but only Damon had been any use to me in figuring out the proper punishment for the rebels.

"You're on in three, two," I watch the young man mouth the last number and then hold up his thumb to let me know that I was now live on every screen across Panem.

"Welcome, everyone. This has been a trying time for all of Panem. Many oppositions have been made and destruction as begun when it was clear that that would be avoided at all costs. Some have not respected that and must be punished as fit," I start, keeping my entire body square to the camera as I speak. "District Twelve has not respected our wish of peace, and has been obliterated. Much like District Thirteen in that they will serve as a reminder to all that no act of treason will go unpunished."

"In saying that, treason is not limited to the districts. And so, to show that even the Capitol must follow law and will be punished when they choose not to do so, this year and forevermore the Capitol will also choose two tributes to participate in the Hunger Games," I can picture the panic that will rise in the Capitol, seemingly overnight. This will quell the Rebellion, for they will not risk their children to the Games. It's perfect, everything has gone as planned, possibly even better.

The Hunger Games will rise again, and with it the power of the President.

* * *

**This is an SYOT for the 76****th**** Hunger Games, the form is located on my profile along with the tribute list. Please ensure that the space you are submitting for is open before you submit!**

**The form below ****must ****be submitted through PM only! Title your PM as "WII Tribute"**

* * *

**This is an extension of canon that I have created in which President Cyrus has taken over and reinstated the Hunger Games after the death of President Paylor. I would advise you to read the prologue before submitting your tribute but in case you are still confused, here is the rundown.**

**This is the 76****th**** Hunger Games**

**- District Twelve has been destroyed, so they nor District Thirteen will have tributes in the Hunger Games**

**- Due to acts of Rebellion on the Capitol, the Capitol will now also send in two tributes to the Hunger Games**

**- All previous rules regarding age, industry, etc are back in place.**

**- Since this is the first Hunger Games in 30 years, there are NO CAREERS**

**If you have any questions, please ask me in PM! I will try and respond right away!**

* * *

**Now some rules for the tributes**

**- Please, give me some good names! If I don't like the name I might ask you to change it!**

**- Make the tributes interesting but realistic, unique is key!**

**- Fill in all areas of the form, please!**

**- No recycled tributes, I **_**will **_**find out and they will die in the Bloodbath or as soon as possible!**

* * *

**Other than that,**

**Welcome to **_**Written in Ice!**_


	2. Frozen Part Two

**Skylines and Turnstiles by My Chemical Romance**

_It reaches in and tears your flesh apart  
As ice cold hands rip into your heart_

* * *

Everyone shifts nervously in their seats, waiting for the arrival of President Cyrus. My chair is at the opposite end of the table from where the new President will be seated, a place of honour reserved just for me. The advisor to the President, the one that knew all about his plans before anyone else could even start to guess them. I've supported him from the beginning of his presidency. I know he trusts me, I just hope he believes that I trust him too.

The door slides open with a mechanical _swish _that causes every person in the room to flinch and turn to the entryway. Cyrus walks in with an Avox in tow, motioning to the group of adults to stand. We do, each one of us in perfect harmony getting to our feet to respectfully greet the important man. He is seated in the chair across from me and stares with cold eyes down the table at me. I give him an assuring nod and he addresses the rest of the room.

"You have all been given your assignments, as well as two months to prepare them," he states bluntly, ignoring any formalities and getting straight down to business. "Show me what you've come up with."

A woman a few chairs away from me nudges the black-bearded man beside her, causing him to flinch and hurriedly stand up from his chair. He clears his throat nervously and takes a small, silver box from his pocket. He sets it in front of him and presses a button on its side, causing a clear image of the newly designed arena to appear over the table. With the touch of another button the image disappears and another replaces it, a closer view of one of the tunnels within the structure.

"Mr. President, t-this is what my Gamemakers are I ha-have come up with. I-it's designed to create many challenges for the tributes and c-contains several-"

"It's perfect," President Cyrus mutters loudly enough that the entire room hears him and becomes silent. The man stopping mid sentence and looking appreciatively at the President. "It is done?"

"P-plans are set t-t-to begin in the next few d-days," the Gamemaker stutters. With a wave of his hand, President Cyrus dismisses the man and he breathes a sigh of relief before pressing a final button on the device that removes the floating arena and stuffing it back into his jacket pocket.

A female Gamemaker shuffles to her feet and looks across the panel nervously before beginning, "all Muttations have been created and are ready to be shipped to the control centre beneath the arena once construction has been completed."

"Very good," Cyrus states blankly and his fingertips tap distractedly on the table in front of him. One after one the new Gamemakers confirm that their part of the preparation has been completed or will be soon. The President does nothing but tap his fingers and offer a sentence of approval after each one. I can feel the tension rising in the room, higher than ever before in a Gamemaker's meeting before. This year, there is more to lose than just your head or your job. I know for a fact that many of the men and women in here have children at home. They make a mistake and it could be their child's name called in a few days.

A knock at the door removes the silence from the room. I turn my head to look towards the doorway where a stout man with round glasses and a thick mustache stands with a nervous look on his aged face. Cyrus looks up from his place at the table and stands to face the man at the door. He seems to shrivel somewhat at the President's glare but stands firmly at the door, silently requesting his attention.

When the President leaves the room we all breathe an audible sigh of relief. Nobody speaks and I busy myself with staring at the edge of the table, trying to rack my memory for where I know the strange man.

That's it!

I remember him from when my sister was ill many years ago, she had been stricken with a run-of-the-mill sickness that had gone untreated for so long that it had posed a great concern to our family. That man is Phineas Flores, owner of one of the most prestigious health care centres in the Capitol. And so his presence could only mean one thing, the new President is ill.

This could be just the chance I've been looking for.

If the President is sick, he's going to need someone to take over the country until he is recovered.

And who better for the job than his right-hand man?

* * *

_**Tribute List**_

_**District One**_

_**Female: Cecilia Howlite, 16**_

_**Male: Obsidian Nixon, 17**_

_**District Two**_

_**Female: Invidius Regium, 18**_

_**Male: Brennen Dwyloe, 17**_

_**District Three**_

_**Female: Vienna Noble, 16 **_

_**Male: Zander Flyx, 16**_

_**District Four**_

_**Female: Seanna Fyera, 14**_

_**Male: Soren Lyte, 16**_

_**District Five**_

_**Female: Grace Willow, 17**_

_**Male: Cole Grissom, 15**_

_**District Six**_

_**Female: Winter Darnish, 15**_

_**Male: Hudson Rienhart, 13**_

_**District Seven**_

_**Female: Juniper Haywood, 17**_

_**Male: Rict Green, 18**_

_**District Eight**_

_**Female: Santanna Cromms, 17 **_

_**Male: Trystan Rayon, 17**_

_**District Nine**_

_**Female: Sheria Maurell, 18**_

_**Male: Heath Carlisle, 17**_

_**District Ten**_

_**Female: Veralidaine Vantos, 18 **_

_**Male: Kor Epson, 18**_

_**District Eleven**_

_**Female: Evangeline Dyre, 16 **_

_**Male: Lorcan Raff, 15**_

_**Capitol**_

_**Female: Natalya Marrion, 17**_

_**Male: Remington Flores, 15**_

* * *

**The blog is up! The link is on my profile and the tributes are there and ready to go. I would love for you to check those out and leave me a quick review as well! **

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**Who are your early favourites from the blog? Reasons?**_

**The Reapings should be posted in 1-2 weeks, for those of you who don't know I do the Reapings all in one chapter. Then I continue into the Capitol for four chapters and then the Games will begin! Until next time :D**

**Oh, and welcome to the **_**official **_**start of Written In Ice!**


	3. Kiss Me Goodbye

**Sleep by My Chemical Romance**

_So shut your eyes, kiss me goodbye_

_And sleep, just sleep_

_The hardest part is letting go of your dreams_

* * *

**Livia Derot, 12, District One Citizen **

My fingertips curls around a bundle of hair and my gaze wanders across the District Square. Everyone's already here but nothing's really happened yet, I can't seem to understand what the big fuss is all about. Sure it's a bit too warm and my stiff dress restricts most movement, but when the announcement was made it just didn't seem like this could be quite as bad as what our parents had told us or as what we have learned in school. The Hunger Games must have some sort of purpose, the Capitol wouldn't let them continue if they didn't.

For weeks all of District One has been in some sort of turmoil. Some of the parents were overjoyed at the news, recollecting memories of when they themselves had planned on volunteering and mumbling about how they never got the chance. A few just seemed scared, and still do.

My mom was one of those people.

As soon as the television had been turned off that night she came into my room and hugged me as tight as she could. I told her over and over again that she was overreacting, but she just kept on crying and pleading with me to stay safe. I already know I'm safe, the stories of the Hunger Games always told us that the little kids were as safe as they could be, and the real risk only happened when we turned fifteen or sixteen. That is at least three years from now, my mom shouldn't worry so much. I'm perfectly safe.

A man with a plastic face and overly blushed cheeks walks on stage after a few more moments of uncomfortable standing and I can feel the mood tense slightly. I keep my shoulders relaxed and look around lazily at the people around me. From here I can't see my parents in the crowd, I am too close to the stage. I concentrate on the screen that sits above everyone's heads, just high enough for me to see t over the taller twelve year olds in front of me.

The smooth voice of Liviticus Fleur, District One's first Escort in thirty years, falls on near deaf ears as everyone in the crowd shifts uncomfortably, waiting for the signal that we can all go back to our homes and remove the required attire. I barely tune in in-time to hear the name of District One's first tribute. I can hear the whooping of some of the more excited adults in the crowds as a name is drawn.

"Cecilia Howlite."

This is followed by silence that is soon enough interrupted by a synchronized groan, I guess mom was right. The other adults were expecting there to be 'volunteers' like I guess there used to be in the past. Instead, a petite blonde girl steps out of the crowd of older kids, as I can see on the screen. Her movements are sluggish as she works her way towards the stage, her eyes moving back to the people behind her as she moves. Her eyes flash with uncertainty that is soon forcibly covered by a blank mask.

Liviticus offers her a hand as she reaches the steps but Cecilia walks straight past him with her pale eyes glued to the stage floor. The Escort nudges her playfully but here eyes don't move up even slightly and Liviticus finally gives up and moves onto the next bowl and draws another slip.

"Obsidian Nixon."

Another slight groan is heard as the screen shows a dark haired boy walking out of the male section. I guess this isn't as fun as they thought it would be, really I don't see the entertainment. I don't know these people and it just doesn't affect me that much besides my having to stand here and watch them walk up steps to a stage to be greeted by a strange man.

Obsidian looks around with his moth slightly agape and stares up at Liviticus who beckons the boy onstage. As soon as he begins moving, however, his face hardens and he continues the walk without so much as a hitch in his step.

As soon as the two teenagers are standing onstage, the Escort pulls them close to him and presents them as District One's tributes. He shuffles them offstage, neither of them seeming to care or notice that they are moving once again. As soon as the door to the Justice Building slams closed everyone begins to move away from the Square and towards their homes.

I stifle a yawn and set off to find my mom. I told her I'd be fine.

* * *

**Ryker Granite, 19, District Two Citizen**

My throat tightens as the male Escort sashays onstage, his hand waving high in the air to the almost nonexistent praise and cheers. Only some of the parents at the back of the sections cheer for the man as he approaches the stage, though I can't imagine why. It doesn't make sense, cheer for the man who has come to take you children away? How much lower can you sink?

Even my own parents, both of them trainees from the time between the Dark Days and the Mockingjay Rebellion, stand cheering behind me as the man flashes a congenial smile. Even as they know that their youngest son and my only brother stands in that crowd of kids waiting for one unlucky soul to be chosen. No matter how many explanations I gave them for how wrong this way they wouldn't hear of it. Nothing could faze the 'perfect' memories of their childhood, where volunteers were plentiful and Victors were many. They don't get that none of these kids are prepared like they think they were. That any one of them could be chosen and any one of them could die.

"Welcome, everyone to the Reaping ceremony for the 76th Annual Hunger Games!" The Escort shines. "My name is Fin Lioney and I will be District Two's Escort for this year and hopefully many more to come!"

My hands grip the rope of the section, searching for my fifteen year old brother amidst the countless faces and bodies. I continue searching until the calling of a name breaks my train of thought and causes me to search the screen for the face of the girl who'd just been called. Invidius Regium.

I don't know her, but the name strikes me for some reason. Perhaps I'd seen her in passing, maybe in the school hall or in the streets? I cannot be sure. The camera closes in on her frightened face and dread fills me as I see her panic-stricken features. Her head whips around, causing her long hair to flip around with it, almost as if she's looking for someone. I hear a faraway cry that is soon cut off as a duo of Peacekeepers comes to collect the frail girl. She glares and kicks at them but their grip only tightens on her thin arms. She is pushed onto the stage where Fin catches her and winks at her to which she answers with a stern glare.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Invidius Regium," Fin tries to hold up her arm but she quickly snatches it away and shrinks away from him. Fin gives a playful shrug to the audience which is met with a murmured chuckle before stepping over to the second Reaping bowl.

My entire body tenses and then soon relaxes as the male tribute is called. It's not him. It's not my brother. Thank god it's not him. It's not someone I know, but more importantly it's not my little brother. It's someone named Brennen Dwyloe that I can't place and when I am shown his face I can only shrug. I don't know him, this is still wrong, but at least I don't know him.

Brennen walks calmly up the aisle towards the stage, biting his bottom lip but otherwise seeming to be unfazed by the announcement. A shriek is heard from behind him and a fragile-looking woman rushes after him, grabbing hold of his arm before being tackled to the ground by a Peacekeeper.

"Not my baby, no! Don't take him! You monsters!" She shrieks as two other officers surround Brennen and escort him the rest of the way to the stage. The Peacekeeper who had tackled her stands himself back up and follows his brethren towards the stage, leaving the woman crumpled on the ground and still calling out accusations.

I stumble my way through the crowds before I realize what I am doing. I lift the older woman up under her arms and hold her head to my chest, hurrying her out of the aisle before the officers return for her. "It's okay ma'am, there's nothing more you can do ma'am."

"They took my baby," she sobs into my shirt and I allow her to rest her head on my shoulder as we move through the parting crowds to open space. "They took him and I didn't stop them."

* * *

**Huxley Dayta, 73, District Three Citizen **

"I bet you twenty that it will be that Cassey kid from the back sector," my old friend looks at me challengingly with a wink and a smile.

"I bet you double that that it will be the Divie kid from middle sector," I counter him wittingly. The other men around us look at each of us and then around at each other. It's a risky bet, but what else am I expected to do on a day like this? My Reaping days are over, long over. Even before the Rebellion struck thirty years ago I had already been a single old man of forty with nothing but a gang full of people like me that I could call friends.

"Pretty daring bet there Dayta. Betting on a sixteen year old is a pretty low chance to begin with, and he's from middle sector. Not exactly the place for tesserae-buyers you know," one of the men around me snickers but I hold my own. I was hardly wrong back in the days before the Rebellion, and Divie seemed like an obvious choice to my sleeping mind. His parents were involved in the taking down of the old President and the appointing of Paylor back in Thirteen before they were allowed back in District Three. If the Capitol were smart they'd be taking the kids like that, whose parents had done something against them. And, well, if they weren't I had just lost the money to but myself lunch and dinner for the day.

"Welcome District Three to the Reaping for the 76th Annual Hunger Games!" The flamboyant woman onstage chimes, swaying her arms in the air as if trying to engage the dreary crowd. I hear a whistle from one of my buddies and we all burst out in chuckles as the Escort waves appreciatively. "Up first, the ladies!"

She struts over to the glass bowl on the right side of the stage and swipes a piece of paper off the top of the pile, holding it out in front of her as she walks back over to the microphone. She coughs delicately and then flicks the paper slip open to reveal the name. "Vienna Noble!"

A rather average looking girl with wavy hair and big eyes steps forward from the mass of teenagers and I hear a groan behind me. It looks like someone has just lost a good amount, my numbers are still looking fine though. I only bet on the male, I've never had much luck picking the right lady if you know what I mean.

The girl walks forwards with her eyes downcast and a bound book held tightly to her chest. She looks almost solemn as she approaches the stage only to be scooped up by the extravagant Escort and dropped off in the middle. The Escort whirls past her in a flurry of glitter and hairspray towards the male bowl and I feel my heartbeat begin to steadily increase. It better be Divie, if not I'm losing big time.

"Zander Flyx!"

My fists clench together as a rather small looking boy is singled out amidst the cameras. He talks back and forth with another boy who happens to be at least a head taller than he before the smaller one is pointed towards the stage by the larger. The one who finally begins to walk, Zander I presume, walks mechanically towards the steps with an awkward smile on his face.

One of my buddies pushes me playfully from behind and winks at me while eyeing up the crumpled bills in my hand. I huff and throw the money to the ground. Stupid kid just cost me an arm and a leg. Better hope he never gets back here or I may just have to find him and kill him myself.

* * *

**Arianna Cove, 49, District Four Citizen **

This is all so, so wrong.

It's not bad enough that they Capitol gave us seventy-five years of torture and horror, it's not enough that they slaughtered over seventeen-hundred district children without batting an eyelash, Now they bring the horror and the fear back, a reinstated Hunger Games that was never supposed to be. Paylor promised us peace, she kept that promise for nearly thirty years. Then she failed us, her successor no more than a history professor who believed in the old ways and way likely not old enough to even remember the terror.

But the Games are back, a whole new generation of children to terrorize and destroy. To leave them as they had left the other generations, afraid and broken. Nothing more than shells of the children they could have been. I was supposed to stop that from happening, I chose the life of a rebel for my sister who had died just five years before the Rebellion began. I chose to fight alongside District Four so that my children and my grandchildren would never have to know of the Hunger Games. I wanted to reduce them to nothing more than a terrifying memory that seems so out of touch with life that it is no longer believable.

They're back, too soon, I have failed.

And now the reign of terror begins again, with another girl and boy from District Four just seconds away from being chosen. Maybe closer.

"Seanna Fyera!"

A muffled cry escapes my lips at the name of the almost anonymous girl. I don't know her, and I never will. But just the scared look of the tiny girl as she walks shakily up towards the stage is enough to bring me to tears. The back of the girl's head is visible as she mounts the steps towards the stage, but just before she reaches the top she turns back and looks right into the camera with tears in her eyes. A look that tells me I have failed her. That I have failed all children who will ever mount those steps again.

"Oh how fun," the Escort woman chirps as Seanna reaches the top of the stage and takes her place beside her. She looks so very tiny next to the odd woman who stands over her in extravagant shoes and dress. I can only look up into the face of the young girl who looks so scared that it takes all my strength not to run up and save her. My job has been done, and failed. I can do no more for her.

"And now for our male tribute," the woman grins and moves fluently towards the second bowl, a jump in her step and a sparkle in her eye. She reaches in and twirls her gloved hand around before picking a slip off the top. She places the slip in front of her face and smiles mischievously before ripping it open. "Soren Lyte!"

The close up that takes over the screen is horrifying, the view of a young man's face that looks utterly stricken with panic and terror. The view is fleeting though, as the young man's face forces itself into a state of calm unlike the prior moments. It breaks my heart to see such a young boy force himself to do such a thing. To pretend that he is fine as he struts up to the stage even though he must be sobbing inside.

It's just wrong, one hundred percent, completely, without a doubt, wrong.

* * *

**Bina Heller, 43, District Five Citizen**

My fingers tap nervously and my husband grabs tightly to my hands. I look up at him appreciatively but my eyes wander back to the stage after less than a minute.

The last time I'd been standing at a Reaping had been thirty years earlier, I'd been just thirteen years old and it was my second eligible ceremony. I still, after all these years can remember the fear that had struck me the second I saw the blonde head of the Escort appear on the screen. You see, I'd been small for my age and was unable to see over the heads of my peers, so instead I concentrated on the screen that was set in just the right place for me to see what was going on. I can remember holding my best friend's hand as a name was called and squeezing it tightly with relief when I didn't recognize the name. It was never anyone I knew, and for that I was thankful. I'd been lucky, far too lucky.

What if it was Ayva this year, my youngest child and by far my brightest. I am thankful, for she is the only of my four children that will ever have to sit through a Reaping. But what if it's her? She has so much ahead of her, she's at the top of her class with a perfect attendance record. She's the nicest girl in all of District Five, with dozens of friends to show for it.

_It can't be her, it won't be her,_ I tell myself though it sounds like more of a plead than a statement, _what kind of state would take one of their best and slaughter them just for the sake of doing it? _

But the possibility is still there, and so when I finally see the painted fingernails of District Five's Escort, Adira Finola, dip into the glass Reaping bowl to choose the female tribute I hold my breath and hope to any higher power that might be out there that it's not my angel.

It's not, and I allow myself a sigh of relief when the screen closes on a girl that must be Grace Willow, the chosen female tribute. She's pretty, with wavy blonde hair and a thin figure. No doubt older than Ayva but not much stronger looking. Her light eyes are wide with terror and surprise and her body trembles, her legs moving mechanically towards the stage. My heart leaps to the girl when I see her eyes shrink slightly and her body steady, but her expression tells me she's terrified. And who can blame her? Such a pretty, pretty girl with a bright future ahead of her. Being announced in front of the entire district that none of that will ever come true for her.

She reaches the stage and refuses the extended hand of the Escort, pulling her arms around herself in a tight hug and closing her eyes for a brief moment. When her face rises to the crowd again I see the nerves nearly gone from her face, replaced with a calm expression. Except for the eyes, they stay the same. Scared and alone.

My eyes bore into the girl, willing her all the strength I can so that she may be able to find peace. I only look up when I hear the boy's name being called. A dark haired boy by the name of Cole Grissom stands hidden in a sea of young men, but the camera finds him and makes it obvious that he has been chosen. He doesn't so much as move, and after moments of silence that tear me apart from the inside out a Peacekeeper steps into the section and pulls him out harshly by one arm.

I hear a cry of surprise and then silence again, by the time the boy is pulled to the stage the blonde girl is rocking back and forth on her feet and staring at the ground. I don't know what else to do so I mutter a wish of luck to both of the teenagers. A hope that both of them will be able to cope with what they don't know is going to happen in the next few days.

* * *

**Cooper Aran, 50, District Six Citizen**

My feet tap against the solid sidewalk outside of the District Six square. Already the colorful Escort woman with a heart shaped head and plump lips stands onstage eagerly with her gloved hands clearly ready to plunge into the glass bowl beside her. Everyone seems somewhat anxious but not exactly as fearful as I remember them being. Times have changed I guess, these kids don't know yet how scared they should be.

But I don't have to be scared anymore, it's almost freeing to know that the Hunger Games hold no power over me. I have no children, no grandchildren, no nieces or nephews that I see or know. No child pulling at my heart strings to make me feel pity for the mass of kids ahead of me, two of whom will leave and likely never return. I feel such lightness compared to my last Reaping ceremony when both my younger siblings had been standing in the sections waiting for the ceremony to end. Then I had feared for them, had feared for my entire family that one or both of them would be chosen. Now they're both old and grown like myself, no kids of their own just like me. I wonder if they feel this peaceful.

I don't even pay any attention as the crowds of people around me quiet to allow the Escort woman to speak. I don't feel the need. Why should I have to be here anyway? I have nothing to lose today, the Capitol can take no more from me, not like thirty years ago when they could have taken away my livelihood with the announcement of just one name. I'm so lost in my thoughts of the changed present that I barely hear the name of the female tribute being broadcasted throughout the Square.

"Winter Darnish!"

The screen above the stage changes from a close up of the ridiculous looking woman to that of a young girl emerging from a parted section of other girls. The look on her face is nothing short of curiosity, mixed together with an expression of glee. I sigh and shake my head, so many kids had tried that in past years, looking excited to prove to the sponsors that they had wanted to go into the Games all along. But just by looking at her you can tell that could never have been the case, she's a rather tiny thing. Tall but lanky with dark hair and eyes. She walks to the stage without assistance, standing next to the Escort, Valentine, with a smirk.

Valentine moves to the second bowl and swipes a slip off the top, ripping it open in uncontained excitement. Before she can even make her way to the microphone the name of the male tribute is yelled through the Square, clear and loud even though her mouth is nowhere near the speaker. She must have some good lungs in her that woman. "Hudson Rienhart!"

I look up to the screen once again to see a small blonde boy, noticeably smaller than the girl, stepping out into the aisle with knitted brows. His eyes are set on the ground below him and his arms are locked to his sides as the small boy makes his way towards the stage. About halfway there the camera is able to close in on him and the small streaks of liquid down his face are unmistakeable. Another weak child from Six. I should feel bad but it's impossible. I don't know the boy, the girl neither. And I have no sympathy for either of them because of this.

Just like the Capitol will have no sympathy for them, simply because they will never know them.

* * *

**Rowan Lindell, 14, District Seven Citizen **

My best friend's nails dig into the palm of my hand once more and this time I don't stop them. I'm too scared to. Scared of all the stories that Mama told me about the Hunger Games thirty years ago. Scared of all the things that have spread around the district like wildfire about who would be chosen. Scared because I really don't know what to expect. I know that I'm supposed to stand here in my section with the other fourteen year olds and listen to what the Capitol woman on the stage says. I know I'm supposed to wait for her to draw a slip and choose a name.

I also know I'm supposed to go up to the stage if one of those names is Rowan Lindell.

I give a reassuring nod to the girl beside me as my best friend clutches my hand for dear life, her head against my shoulder and tears already flowing down her face despite the fact that the Escort has only greeted the audience as of yet. I whisper to her to cut it out but my words are lost on my lips before they can exit and I just stand there allowing her to lean on me like a dependent child.

I take another deep breath as the Capitol woman introduces herself as Cicely Avril and officially opens the ceremony by tapping loudly on the microphone. The entire Square goes silent and she lets out a chilling laugh, showing her perfect white teeth to the camera. "Welcome citizens of District Seven to the Reaping for the 76th Annual Hunger Games!"

No applause is given but that doesn't seem to faze the young woman at all, instead she moves swiftly towards a glass bowl that I have only just noticed. It's filled to the top with little white pieces of paper that Mama told me will have the name of every child in the district on them. I count out on my fingers how many slips have my name on them. One definitely, plus another one for each year over twelve. Three, only three in a bundle of thousands, maybe more. That's not that many but yet I feel like it could be me. I don't know. I hope not but it could happen. It could be anyone, I think that's why everyone feels so anxious.

"Juniper Haywood!"

My head snaps up and then back down as a girl passes by my section. A flash of blonde hair is all I see as the girl tribute walks by. I turn my attention to the screen and see a shaky girl walking up the stone sidewalk towards the stage. She walks quickly but I can see the hesitation despite this, she's being strong. She doesn't want to go, who would? But she's doing it anyway because she has no choice. A wave of sickness washes over me, I try and dismiss it but it only gets worse. It wasn't me, it wasn't anyone I know. But it was her. It was someone. And it's not fair to her to be relieved yet I am.

"You can let go now, Ainslyn," I whisper to my friend who still has her face buried in the sleeve of my dress. She lifts up her head and a sigh escapes her mouth before she lets go of my hand and shakes the stiffness out of hers. I can't blame her for being happy it wasn't her, I'm happy it wasn't me. But I still hate the fact that it was _someone_.

The boy that's called is an older boy with dark hair and bright eyes, I remember him from school. He used to be a helper in the younger rooms for kids that needed help, he helped me a few time I think back in the early levels. Rict Green, I think everyone in District Seven knows that name. But the boy that shows up on the screen isn't the same as I remember him. His eyes are cloudy and laced with fear, but the face is unmistakeable.

Once he gets onstage he forces a smile towards the girl, Juniper, and tears drop from my eyes. Anyone in District Seven could have been chosen, but I guess the old saying holds true even now. Only the good die young.

* * *

**Lea Rollag, 5, District Eight Citizen**

I search for my older brother's face as the cameras scan the sections of kids from the district. The screen above the stage is lucky for me, since now I can actually see what's going on even though all the older kids are in my way because they're so much bigger than me. I wish I was big like them, then I would get a special place to stand too. I wouldn't have to stand here with Daddy trying to see over the bigger kids and hurting my neck so I can see the screen. Daddy and Ian say that I'm really lucky that I don't have to stand with the big kids, but that isn't right. I'm not lucky to be so small, I want to be big like Ian so I can be special like him and stand in the special sections.

A funny looking man comes onstage, his hair isn't the color that it should be and his clothes don't fit him right I don't think. I've seen them on the television before and Daddy told me that this is what they wear in the Capitol. From what I can see they live a lot differently than we do. They wear weird clothes but they still look happy, even if their shoes are three sizes too small for their feet.

The man tells us that the ceremony is going to start soon and I tug on Daddy's pant leg so that I can ask him what 'ceremony' means. Daddy told me this morning that two kids are going to get to go far away for a little bit and this is how we pick who it will be, but I don't know what that word means so I don't know if the strange man just has his language confused like they do on T.V. Daddy must not notice me though, because he doesn't look down and his eyes stay locked on the stage that I can only see on the screen. I cross my arms in front of me and just decide to watch the screen some more, the man is holding a white piece of paper now so maybe it's time for the girl and boy to be picked. My suspicions are proved right when I hear a name spoken in the strange accent as the greeting, stating the winner as being a girl named Santanna Cromms.

The screen moves to see the crowd of girls in full before singling out one of them that begins to move away from the others. She says a word that I don't recognize and the strange stage man's eyes widen in surprise. A few of the people around me laugh quietly but I don't see what's funny. The girl stomps up to the stage and pushes past the extended hand of the man to stand by the glass bowl. She has her arms crossed in front of her and she doesn't look thrilled to be standing up there. I stare up at the girl until I hear another name announced and the screen changes to show the boys group.

The boy that the screen focuses on is tall and thin with a raised eyebrow and a stricken expression. His face changes though as he walks up to the stage and, unlike the girl Santanna, takes the man's hand to help him up the steps. Once he is on the stage he walks confidently over to where the girl stands and gives her a sly wink. I giggle as the girl's expression changes from anger to shock and she reaches out and slaps the boy across the face. Two Peacekeepers separate them and the Capitol man gives a shortened speech before ending the ceremony.

Daddy takes my hand and starts to lead me away from the crowded Square and back to our house. I look back once, just before the two kids are taken into the Justice Building and see that both of their mouths are turned down into frowns. I would have thought they'd be happy, right? They won, didn't they?

* * *

**Omri Barric, 45, District Nine Citizen**

The Escort, Fabula Tayge, stands over the audience with a forced smile and looks down at the white piece of paper in her manicured hands. Her eyes trace along the crowds below her for what feels like many hours, until finally she rips open the slip with two flicks of her wrist and clears her throat loudly into the microphone. Everyone under her cringes at the sound except the children and citizens under thirty. They don't know what's going on, not really anyway. All they know is the history that the Capitol wants them to know and bits and pieces of recounts by the older citizens of the group. This is the first Reaping half the population of District Nine has ever experienced, and the kids standing in the roped off sections don't even realize how terrified they should be.

Maybe that's for the best, isn't the old saying "There's nothing to fear but fear itself"? But that hardly makes sense in this case. They have plenty to fear, they have to fear for their own lives, those of their friends, siblings, cousins, anyone they know that is eligible this year. They have to fear for the younger kids who aren't yet eligible for the ceremony but will be in a few years. There's so much for them to fear, but fearing it could hardly make this easier for them.

The fear hasn't made this any easier for myself, nor for my own parents. We all know what's happening, that very soon two of the kids in this crowd of hundreds could be dead, who am I kidding, will be dead. Today has been the only day in over ten years that I have been happy that my wife is no longer here. She was always so sensitive, the thought of little Aliah or Lockin being Reaped at the ages of twelve and fifteen would have ruined her. Just like it's ruining me to just stand here and watch.

Thirty years ago I had been just fifteen years old, standing amidst the children of District Nine in my fourth year of the dreadful ceremony. No one I had ever known, except in passing, had ever been chosen for the Hunger Games. But that didn't make it any less real to me, the possibility of it happening became higher and higher with each passing year, with each slip that added to my pile and those of my close relatives and friends. None of them were eligible to be taken this year, but my son and daughter are in the same positions as I had been. And I dreaded that either of them would be Reaped, just as I am sure my own parents had dreaded for me of my siblings to be Reaped all those years ago.

"Sheria Maurell."

A tall redhead makes her way out of the back section slowly with her arms hugged tightly around her small frame. I sigh a breath of relief but immediately regret it. Yes, I have reason to be glad that Aliah is safe for at least another year, but this girl has just been chosen and for another parent this must be a day of mourning for them. The girl's shoulders rise and fall deeply as she walks slowly towards the stage and Fabula. Her eyes don't move from the ground until she reaches the stage and she looks back to the crowds of younger kids behind her. Her eyes close and she steps up the three steep stairs to stand beside Fabula.

Fabula, without even greeting the startled girl, skips over to the second Reaping bowl and swipes another white slip from the pile, eager to read out the second name.

"Heath Carlisle."

It's another older child, a brown-haired boy with a worn shirt and a deep frown. He looks around with the same look on his face until someone behind him nudges him and he turns around to glare at them, his feet taking steps toward the other boy as his face reddens. A Peacekeeper must realize the danger in this, or maybe he just wants this ceremony over with as well, because he and another of his colleagues grabs Heath and pulls him towards the stage.

As he reaches the stage, his glare hardens at the sight of his district partner and the Escort standing side by side, Sheria still hold her stomach as if she may be sick. Fabula takes hold of Heath's shoulder and pulls him closer to her, on the opposite side than Sheria. Heath glares accusingly at both the Escort and his district partner as she announces them as District Nine's tributes.

* * *

**Eve Kelder, 64, District Ten Citizen **

My husband squeezes my bony shoulder again as we stand in the crowd of thousands. Since the announcement of the Hunger Games being reinstated it has been a trying time for everyone in District Ten. Especially those that had already experienced the horror that had taken place each year before the Rebellion thirty years ago. Among those were the most affected, such as myself and my husband, who had lost someone in the Hunger Games and would now have to remember their death even more vividly and would have to live with the possibility of it happening again.

It's true, thirty-one years ago in the 74th Hunger Games I lost my middle son. Keegan was just seventeen years old, one of the oldest that could even be eligible for the Hunger Games but still a baby in my eyes. Keegan never stood a chance and he knew as much, telling me that he loved me when we were allowed to say goodbye to him in the Justice Building. Saying that he hoped he had made me proud in his short life. That was all Keegan cared about, living up to the amazing example that his older brother had made for him. And that was all striped away from him, because of circumstance. He never got a chance to fight for himself, Keegan had been born with a limp in his leg that prevented him from walking quickly. It just wasn't fair, but I never heard those words spoken by him. He didn't ask why it had to be him, he merely did his best with the cards he'd been dealt. I'd never been more proud of him.

"Welcome, welcome everyone to the first Reaping ceremony in a long thirty years. I am your Escort, Anine Aione and I am just tickled pink to be here with you all!" Anine wears a huge grin on her painted face and a dress made of feathers. Nothing short of the Capitol Escorts that I remembered from both my childhood and my adulthood. It sent shivers up my spine to see this woman, to know that soon she would choose the two children who would die in a cruel and unfair way, in a place other than the place they belonged, home. It brought back memories of the day Keegan left us and tears begin to fall from my aged eyes. I turn and weep into the worn fabric of my husband's jacket and he hugs his arms around me for not the first time that day.

"Now for our first tribute, oh how exciting!" Anine chirps and I can hear the _click, clack _of her shoes on the concrete stage. "And the female tribute for District Ten this year will be, Veralidaine Vantos!"

I pull myself out of his arms, for some reason wanting to see the girl who'd name had just been called. It's a tall girl with black hair and pale skin that steps blankly towards the stage on which Anine stands with her arm extended to help the child up the steps. Veralidaine shoves past the hand and walks up the stairs herself, stopping in the middle of the stage and glaring outwardly at the crowds below her.

"Isn't this simply exciting," Anine asks the crowd as she skips towards the glass bowl that sits idly in front of Veralidaine. She plucks a white slip from the bowl and steps over toward the centre microphone. She clears her throat and rips open the white piece, reading the name out eagerly. "Kor Epson!"

A dark-skinned male steps out of the back section with eyes wide and mouth slightly open. His steps are slow but the Escort relishes in it, smiling down to Kor as he shakily makes his way up the steps towards her. This time her extended hand is met by his and she guides him up the final two stairs.

Once onstage, Kor walks past Veralidaine with the guiding hand of Anine still holding tightly to his. As he passes her, he gives his district partner's shoulder a reassuring squeeze and she turns up her nose at him, slinking away in disgust. Kor doesn't see this and continues to stand on the opposite side of the Escort as Veralidaine. Anine grabs one of each of their arms and hoists it high into the air, announcing them as District Ten's tributes for the 76th Hunger Games. Kor stands there with a blank face but in the last second before they disappear into the Justice Building I see Veralidaine turn back to the crowd with a chilling smile.

* * *

**Levy Till, 46, District Eleven Citizen **

The two kids that stand on the stage are nothing special. A girl with dark skin like most of the district, her eyes big and arms crossed across her chest, palms rubbing up and down her arms as if she were feeling cold in the sickly summer heat. That's how she's looked since being called up to the stage, distant and unconnected to the situation. It's like she doesn't even hear anything the Escort is saying, nothing past her name at least, Evangeline Dyre. Not that I can blame her, I guess it must be pretty hard to understand what's going on. After she gets past the shock, man will she be pissing herself.

The boy is something else, a richer kid I can tell just by the look of him. Not necessarily merchant class but at least better off than the common citizen. All the lighter skinned kids usually are. It's not really a discrimination thing, but there are very few of them in Eleven and the few that are here seemed to have been able to get ahead more quickly than the rest of us ever could. I would almost envy the kid, if he wasn't headed for the arena in a few days that it.

When his name, Lorcan Raff, was called he just stood there like a scarecrow. Didn't move or anything, stupid kid had to be moved to the stage by a couple of Peacekeepers. Job surely could have been done with just one of them but two of them were sent over to grab the kid and drag him up to the stage to stand next to his pathetic partner. It was strange to see actually, the second the men touched his arms the kid flinched into action, trying to turn and make a dash for it as if it was actually worth attempting at this point. If the kid had wanted to run he should have started much earlier, when you're two feet from a Peacekeeper it's not the best time.

It's just like before the Mockingjay Rebellion, two tributes that don't stand a chance of making it even past the first few days. I would almost feel bad for them, but it's just the way it's always been and nothing's going to change. It was like that when I was their age, when my older brother went in, when one of my school friends got the call. It happened every year before the Games stopped, so it's only right that it would start again as soon as they restarted.

I'd long since stopped hoping that one of our tributes would win. As a young child I used to watch with wide, pleading eyes that I would see the Eleven tributes come home again, maybe I knew their families, maybe my brother went to school with them, maybe they were complete strangers. It didn't matter, I wanted them to get out and year after year I saw them die horrifically within the first few hours. When my brother went in I sat and watched, just like every other year. But when he didn't come out I changed, it was like a light switch had been flicked on in my brain. District Eleven never won, if they did it was pure luck and chance. There was no point in hoping that they would.

That's why I stopped watching consciously, my eyes would still see the images but it was like my mind was dulled to them. I can't even remember how one of my buddies died, or even what place he came in. I wouldn't watch with hope because it crashed each time.

This year would be no different.

* * *

**Phineas Flores, 51, Capitol Citizen**

The Reaping is so much different than it looked on television all those years ago. All they ever showed us were little clips or humorous tribute reactions, most of the earlier stuff was cut out. Sure, if you wished to you could watch the Reapings in full from each district but very rarely did anyone do that. There was no point really, the tributes were coming here.. There were rumors that some sponsors reviewed the Reapings before betting to check their choices but most people just bet on the tributes that stood out in the Pre-Games. A tribute with a good score, an interesting past, or a flashy costume even.

But after seeing the beginnings of the Reapings for the first ever Capitol tributes, I can understand that a Reaping actually shows more about how a tribute will react to the arena than anything the Pre-Games can show sponsors. Pressure is built up, even in the lights and staging that is set up here the tense atmosphere is evident. Just like in the arena, all eyes might be on you at any time and you are being caught by surprise. Nothing in the arena is expected, just as I am sure that becoming a tribute in the first place must not be expected. Seeing the reactions of tributes to the unexpected would be most helpful in deciding who to sponsor. Maybe I will bet this year, come up with a formula for choosing the Victor based on the elements of Reapings, as well as Pre-Games. It would be interesting to see if my equation works out.

I ponder this as the male Escort assigned to choose and guide the Capitol tributes enters through the doors of the President's mansion, the Capitol equivalent to a district Justice Building. I recognize him immediately as being one of the twelve Escorts seated at the table in one of the board rooms of the mansion with the President when I made a visit to check on him again. His name snaps into my head after a moment of thought, Jerduse Anderlin! Son of the famous Escort who held the spot of District One Escort for sixteen years. It is no mystery how the young man got the job, his Father is evidently too old to be considered so he no doubt got an excellent requisition from him.

"Welcome to the Reaping ceremony!" He grins into the microphone through heavy lipstick. "I am _super _excited to be here! Now let's get started!"

The mood in the City Circle is not the same as it often was during the Tribute Parade, but that is understandable considering the fact that two Capitol kids will be joining the district kids in the arena this year. It must have caused some debates amongst the council members as to who was eligible. It's a common rumor that the Gamemakers and the President choose the tributes personally each year to ensure the best show. I've heard rumors that it will be the children of Rebels from inside the Capitol, but no one can be sure. I'm just glad that President Cyrus and I have a fair relationship, and there is no doubt in my mind that he would not try and jeopardize that by allowing Remington or Persephone to be chosen.

"Now it's time to choose our lovely lady for this year's Games," Jerduse sashays over to the Reaping bowl and digs around the bowl, choosing one near the bottom of the rather small pile. He calls the name without a hitch in his voice, an obvious hereditary ability. "Natalya Marrion!"

A shriek cuts through the near silence and I cover my ears in response. Sobs and cries are heard blatantly as they travel through the Circle. I watch two Peacekeepers step into the female section and return dragging a thin girl with white hair and a red face, shrieks pouring out of her painted lips. Just a few feet away from me I hear the cries of two adults that must be Natalya's parents, calling for their little girl to be released immediately. Not surprisingly, the uniformed officers don't listen and drag the girl up to the stage where they right her and hold her thin arms tight so that she doesn't drop again.

"Well," Jerduse smiles as he makes his way over to the male bowl, plucking a slip off the top this time and rushing back over to the microphone like an overexcited puppy. "This year's male tribute will be, Remington Flores!"

My body freezes as my mind races. It's him, my son. He was supposed to be safe. How could it be him? No. No, it can't be. No. No. No.

My greatest fear is confirmed when the screen shows my boy being nudged out of his section by his peers. He trembles but doesn't cry, struck by the realization that his name has just been called, just as I am being struck as well. My wife shrieks loudly in my ear and falls into me and I only just catch her before she falls to the ground. My eyes never leave the screen that shows my son's stricken face. At the sound of his Mother's cry he turns back around so that his eyes face the camera head on. The eyes of a dead child walking.

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be**_** My Chemical Romance.**_

**Song: **_**Sleep**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. Escorts have been updated.**

* * *

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**Any early favourites?**_

_**Tributes/POVs that stood out to you?**_

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**Next chapter will begin the four Capitol chapters, and then the Games begin! Until next time, remember to drop a review if you could!**

**Yeah, I really hate Reapings and these became longer than expected so this took quite a while, sorry! Hopefully I did alright with them so far and if I didn't, tell me please? Don't let me like ruin them thanks! Also, some are longer than others so sorry if your tribute got a shorter one. Until next time, enjoy if you can :D**


	4. Make Me Fly

**Headfirst for Halos by My Chemical Romance**

_And now these red ones make me fly,_

_And the blue ones help me fall._

* * *

**Cecilia Howlite, 16, District One**

"Her hair is so thin. What, do they think I can do magic?"

The voice from behind me cuts through the haven I have tried to create for myself by closing my eyes. Shrill and taunt, like a bird that has landed inside the Training Centre that I was forced into this morning. The place I am in I cannot recall the name of, but it doesn't matter very much to me. The only thing that I can seem to focus on is the pain crashing down in waves on my body, the ripping of hairs and rubbing of stinging lotions making my skin tingle with discomfort. It's all I can do not to scream out in agony.

"So pale, beautiful but such a fragile thing!"

All of the words I hear sound vaguely like compliments but still leave an uncomfortable feeling in my chest. No one warned me of the pain I would feel, not only physical but also emotional. I'm not sure if I can stand to be in the same room as these people that make insults sound like praise yet still leave a venomous sting behind.

"Impossible to imagine the conditions that could have made her so filthy!"

This time I open my eyes to look up at the figure whose warm breath has assaulted my face and harsh words have assaulted my ears. The woman stares down at me with a too-wide grin and I shudder under the thin cloth dress that covers my bare skin. Her eyes cut through my wall like missiles and I shy away from her gaze almost immediately. There's nothing I can say to her, not now when she holds my body in her full control.

"Close your eyes again, darling. I need to put on some more powder."

I obey the words, feeling the familiar puff of powder and wool that caresses my skin and leaves me with a layer of dust in my lungs. I open my eyes once more and blink away the floating dust that settles in them. The same woman smiles over me with an almost predatory expression and moves in with a pair of silver utensils. I close my eyes to hide the pained expression that crosses them as I feel sharp tugs near my eyebrows. I feel a cold hand tilt my chin upwards and squint through narrowed eyes as the woman comes at me with the tool once more. A tingling in my legs alerts me to the other set of hands running up and down my legs with a thick-feeling potion. This one doesn't sting but soothes instead, lulling me into a sort of trance that is soon broken with another tug near my eye.

I keep my eyes closed as the feeling of touch slowly disappears from my body. When I finally open them I look around the room and see that the three chirping figures have vanished from the room, leaving me alone in the silver prison. I sit up on the cold table and pull the sleeves of my gown so that they cover my arms halfway to my elbow. I become aware of a slight chill coming from behind me and I reach back to find my bare back almost completely exposed. After a few moments I lower my head to the palms of my hand and let out a deep breath. Why anyone from my district could have volunteered for this is beyond me.

The door slides open revealing a thickly built woman with plump, orange lips and straight white hair. She doesn't smile or show any hint of expression as she steps into the room and the door slides closed behind her. She steps onto a small step that leads up to the prep table and surveys me quickly, taking a chunk of my pale hair in her chubby hands.

"I suppose this will do," she sighs at last and I can't help the feeling of shame that comes over me. Am I not good enough for this woman who I hardly know? How am I supposed to look?

I swallow hard and look away as she studies me for a moment longer. Finally I hear the clack of her shoes as she hits the ground, continuing the sound as she walks away from the table. I look up to see her struggling with a long plastic bag and hanger. She eyes me for a moment until she is able to throw the package over to me, landing it across my lap.

"Put this on. No time to waste with you."

* * *

**Brennen Dwyloe, 17, District Two**

The room opens up ahead of me as I exit the elevator with my stylist. He doesn't really say much, his bright eyes downcast and fingers tapping subconsciously on his legs. Even back in the Remake Center he said little to nothing, small quips of instruction here and there but nothing more. It's almost like he's sad to be here, but that can't be it. From what I was told about the Hunger Games in my district the Capitol citizens were the most excited for the event, the high districts coming in second for excitement.

Then it hits me, the Capitol has tributes too this year. Two of them, a skinny girl with snow white hair and a young boy with freckles. They aren't the kind of people I would have expected to come from the Capitol. They just look, well, normal. Not particularly strong or strange. The girl cried at the Reaping, I remember that much about her. That is never something I would have expected from the type of people that were supposed to worship the Hunger Games.

Our Mentor and Escort, Fin and Ennia, meet me at the side of a large wheeled vehicle. Invidius appears just moments later with a woman in purple by her side; her eyes seem to dance around the stable as if looking for something or maybe some_one_. I wave at her when her eyes wander over to me but she doesn't seem to notice, her gaze shifting around again.

I decide that it might not be such a bad idea to have a look around myself, I can't for the life of me remember half of these tributes' district let alone their names but I still try and put them together anyway. Just a couple rows behind me I see a young looking girl with long, wavy hair and too-thick eyeliner. By the looks of the seaweed wrapping she wears I can pin her easily as District Four, but her name escapes me. I look at her intensely, trying to remember her from the Reaping but my mind draws a complete blank. She looks suddenly over to me and I shift my gaze nearly as fast. I don't want her to think I'd been staring at her.

My eyes land on a petite blonde that stands with her group just several metres from where I stand with Invidius. She wears a circular headpiece made of gold fabric that dips down with pieces of golden fabric at the sides of her pale face. The dress matches the color perfectly, fitted tightly to her skin and layered with several intricate swirls and lines. Her eyes are almost invisible to me, set downcast as the plump woman tugs and pulls at her dress and hair. I feel a slight surge of protectiveness over the girl when I see her blank expression. I can only imagine the words being spoken through the hideous woman's thick lips. I begin walking over to the pair almost subconsciously when I feel a harsh pull on my wrist.

"Be careful," a male voice whispers and I turn around to face Fin who looks at me seriously with a heavy stare. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into with that her."

* * *

**Vienna Noble, 16, District Three**

Zander's already inside the chariot by the time our Mentor tells us it's time to get in. "Come on up, Vienna! We're going soon."

"Okay," I reply simply and accept the extended hand of Leandros that helps me up the couple steps to the tall chariot. The horses move slightly and the chariot shifts under me as I try and climb in. I shoe slams against the metal of the siding and I grimace in pain as I feel the heat travel to my cheeks. Zander smiles widely and offers me a hand to help me into the chariot but I refuse, taking the side of the chariot and yanking myself in. He stands there chuckling to himself as I right myself and I only glare at him until he gets the message.

"How long do you think this is going to take before we start?" He asks after a few minutes and I shrug, staring in front of me at the back of the next chariot. I play through my head what Leandros told me about first impressions for the Tribute Parade. Look calm, be poised. Don't show any fear. Add that to the strategy I have planned for presenting myself to the sponsors and I know exactly what I have to do. I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath, willing my shoulders to relax in the too-tight straps and bare back of the dress.

"How many people do you think will be out there?" Zander interrupts my train of thought and I scowl despite myself. Does he ever stop talking? Can't he see that I just want to relax before we go? His voice chatters continuously in my ear. Commenting on the other costumes as if I had asked him his opinion on each. I try so hard to tune him out but for some reason his voice fights through the wall I try to build.

"District One have too much of one color. I'd get sick of gold if I had to wear that much of it. They look like some kind of painted idol, do you think that's the point? If it is it's a pretty stupid point, idols can't fight."

"The District Two girl looks really uncomfortable. I think she's nervous, but what does she have to be nervous about? We don't even start training until tomorrow morning. It's just the Tribute Parade, why do you think she's nervous. Are you nervous, Vienna?"

I shake my head slightly and bring my hands up to rub my temples, the beginning of a headache pounding at my skull. I wish he would just shut up and concentrate. This is the first time the sponsors will see us since the Reapings and it really is important that we make a good impression. If we don't make the right entrance they'll ignore us. If they ignore us, they won't sponsor us. If they don't sponsor us, we won't get any extra help when we're fighting for our lives in the arena a few days from now. That could mean the difference between victory and an early death. I need sponsors and so does Zander, why doesn't he seem to understand how important this is?

My thoughts are forgotten when our chariot suddenly lurches forward, causing me to lose my balance and fling my hands out for something to hold onto. I find something and my heartbeat begins to settle as we roll out into the City Circle. I look up half a second later to see Zander staring down at me with a cocky grin on his lips, his arms wrapped around my shoulders.

"Just couldn't resist, could you? Don't worry, I've got you."

* * *

**Soren Lyte, 16, District Four**

The knot in my stomach becomes nearly unbearable and I feel as though I may throw up. Everything's just moving too quickly, the Reaping, the Train, the Prep Team and Stylist. And now I'm here, on a tiny wheeled thing with a horse in front of it, pulling me around in a wrapping of seaweed and fabric. It's just too much, too fast. I just want everything to stop for just a second to let me take it all in.

My knuckles go white as my hands clench the bar in front of me, the only thing keeping me tethered to this thing. We're moving fast, but not so fast that I can't see the people cheering beside us. What are they cheering for? Oh yeah, they're cheering for me. Well, for me and all the other twenty-three tributes that will ride around the Circle tonight. I hear someone call my name and I look around me to try and find the source of the cry. It's too bad we're moving fast, the people that were beside me just a second ago are behind me now. That reminds me of the one bit of advice that Volusia told me, never look behind you, they're behind you for a reason. Worry about the people in front of you, because they are who you will face next.

That doesn't really make much sense to me, but she seems to understand what she is saying when she talks and I don't really want to question her. I want to ask her what I'm supposed to do if one of those people that is behind me decides to stab me in the back, but that might make her think I'm not going to listen to her. I want her to keep giving me advice, even if it doesn't always make sense. At least it will give me something to hold onto when I'm by myself.

The strap of Seanna's outfit starts to slip down her shoulder and I reach up to help her with it before she can even notice that it has fallen. She turns to look at me and gives me a heavy glare, startling me and causing me to take a step back. She's two years younger than me but the harsh, black eyeliner that was put on her small face makes me believe that she really is some kind of monster, even though someone like her never could be.

"What?" I ask her, having to yell so that she will hear me over the roar of the crowd.

"Don't help me," she says flatly, her eyes still fixated on me making me feel extremely vulnerable and uncomfortable for some reason. "I don't need anyone's help."

"I-I was just," I start but she turns away before I can finish, dismissing me and leaving me with my mouth wide open, no words coming out. I mutter something of an apology to her, though I'm not really sure what I am sorry for. She doesn't respond if she even hears me, the cheering is pretty loud so maybe that's just it. For the rest of the ride she doesn't even look at me, treating me as if I had hurt her when I didn't even understand what I had done.

_Please just look at me, _I will her from within my thoughts. _I didn't mean to do, well, whatever it is I did that made you mad._

* * *

**Cole Grissom, 15, District Five**

"Grace, are you alright?" I ask my district partner who stands next to me shivering in the skimpy silver outfit she was given to compliment mine. It doesn't really have much to do with our district but the silver kind of reminds me of the inside of one of the factories so it isn't that far off. My own outfit is a pair of silver shorts with silver ribbon layered around my torso. Grace wears a two pieces of silver fabric to cover her and ribbons of silver up her legs, with more entwined in her hair. She looks beautiful, her blonde hair teased to look messy and tangled but the fragility of her features still there. But I can't shake the feeling that she is uncomfortable. I don't understand it, but it's there.

Any other girl her age with her looks would be loving the attention, but I can already tell she's different. How she is different, I'm not exactly sure. But I know she's different. She hasn't said a word to anyone since she got on the train and she's taken ever chance she got to get away from the rest of us. I just wish I could find a way to make her relax, that's the only way she's going to be able to get any sponsors.

"Grace, can you hear that?" I ask her, placing a hand to my ear as if entertaining a young child, even though she might be older than me. "There are people calling our names."

She looks around with a blank expression and I chuckle to myself, she really does seem like a little kid. Not in the way she looks but in the somewhat secluded and frightened way she acts and responds to people. She continues to look around the chariot with squinted eyes as the audience cheers their approval of each tribute that passes. I smile and move my hand to take hers, feeling the sudden need to comfort her when her eyes become downcast again.

Her eyes snap open as wide as they can go and she snatches her hand away from mine. I take a step back, taken by surprise by her sudden movement. Before I can even think of another word to say to her she is ducked under the bar that sits at hand level for us to hang onto. She curls up on herself, hiding her face from view and tucking her limbs in close to her chest. I attempt to reach down to comfort her but remembering her startling last time I did that I hold back, doing nothing but staring at the shaking girl as she hides from the crowd's view.

Our chariot comes to a stop and I whisper to Grace to stand up as the President makes his way to the balcony. She doesn't say anything back but I notice she has stopped shaking and decide not to push it. What am I supposed to do? Drag her up just for her to go back down there. No, that wouldn't be helping either of us. I decide just to smile and look directly ahead as President Cyrus begins his speech.

"Welcome tributes to the Capitol. You have been chosen at random as the representatives of your district for the first reinstated Hunger Games, henceforth known as the 76th Hunger Games. I look forward to your stay here and your transfer to this year's arena," he says, short and to the point, his eyes glazing over each chariot before they stop on mine. He raises an eyebrow stoically and keeps his eyes locked with mine as he finishes. "As always, good luck and may the odds be ever in your favour."

My eyes are only able to break away from his when our chariot turns around to lead us back towards the stable. My heart beats loudly in my ears and my breaths seem to choke me before they can escape my lungs. The President has noticed us, and I don't know much but that can most definitely not be a good thing.

* * *

**Winter Darnish, 15, District Six**

Someone takes my hand and lowers me from the chariot with a gentle lead, letting my feet hit the ground gracefully as I descend. That wasn't nearly as horrible as I thought it would be, being paraded around the Capitol in a striped conductor's uniform with a little blonde boy beside me. Not exactly what I would think would be fun, but it was. Hearing all those strange, overdressed people screaming the names of their favourites from the Reapings and not hearing one shout for your own name. Realizing that they have no sense of who we really are, because if they did I would have heard my name. The Hunger Games is my game, I will live or I will die. Either way I see it I win.

Death is not something that has ever scared me, it was always quite the opposite really. It fascinated me, not just death but also pain and life. Every factor that could make a person act differently than they would usually. But death was the most prominent, it always had been and always would. When faced with death, animals will do everything in their power to fight it. They will think, they will wish, they will struggle, they will _change. _Nothing creates the same effect. Nothing.

"No thanks, I can get down myself," I hear the chirpy voice of my district partner from behind me as our Escort offers him a hand. I watch with a smile as Hudson tries to grab a foothold on the side of the chariot but misses by a foot and a half, causing him to plummet to the ground with a cloud of dust. Valentine sighs and offers him a hand once again but, just as before, Hudson smiles it off and stumbles to his feet without assistance.

Hudson truly is a strange character, the youngest I have seen here and yet not willing to let it get him down. Death hasn't seemed to affect him just quite yet, though I know it will. It always does. He just isn't intelligent to know yet that he is doomed. But it will come, I know it will because that is how it always works.

I pull at the tight collar of my costume, it feels like it could be strangling me as I stand here waiting for the stylists to brush the dirt off my district partner. I wonder what that would cause, to have a tribute die right here before the Games have even started. What kind of effects would that create for the rest of us, for the Capitol, for the districts? Death would have an effect here too, even though the Capitol makes it seem like we are so replaceable I think they actually care if we live for now. That's what we're here for after all, but what if something made it so that one of us was killed early? What would happen then?

"You seemed happy out there, Winter," Livillia says as she appears by my side, starting to walk and so I follow her. "I don't think we will have that much trouble pulling sponsors for you based on tonight and the Reaping."

I smile up at her, the same cheeky smile that my everyone hated so much for some odd reason. They told me it looked strange, the way I smiled, but I never understood them when they said that. One boy told me it looked sinister, but I only answered with a slight nod and a wider smile. I wasn't sinister, not by a mile. I didn't find joy in the fact that people were dying or hurt, only interest. We can't help what we find interest in, and people are my interest. But no one knows that, I know enough to keep that a secret. Even though I see no wrong in it, I still realize that someone else might.

* * *

**Rict Green, 18, District Seven**

Battia slams her fingertip into the button labelled with a thick seven and all of us flinch despite not being touched. Battia always seems so intense, ever since I met her on the train she has pestered me endlessly about skills and strategy, things I had not even had the chance to think about. All I had been thinking about since the Reaping were keeping my cool and not focusing on what is actually happening, but it seems that our Mentor wants the exact opposite. She tells us she wants a Victor, and that one of us will be that tribute to win. Though looking between Juniper and I, I really have to doubt District Seven's chances.

I feel a set of eyes on me and I turn to my right to see Juniper's head turned to face me. I swallow hard and force myself to smile at her before turning away to look at the panel of buttons beside the door. After a few seconds I still can feel the gaze and it has begun to make me feel, I don't know why, vulnerable. Just the steady stare directed at me is enough to make my palms sweat and my face feel clammy. It's like she's looking into my mind, seeing the me that I have kept hidden. But she can't possibly know, can she? That's impossible, I haven't acted any different than I did at home and no one saw it there. No one was close enough to see it, and I am determined to keep it that way until I die. If it's up to me, I want to die the man that people think I am. I've been him for a long time, because I want to _be_ him. And I will be him, if not for just a little bit longer.

"Yes?" I ask, turning to her suddenly when the silence becomes unbearable. She flinches and her shoulder slams into the side of the elevator, causing her to wince in pain. Battia looks over at both of us with an accusing stare as if we had done something wrong. Juniper just looks at me with wide eyes as she rubs the spot her shoulder hit.

"Pardon?" She asks back with such innocence that I wonder if the staring had only been in my imagination. Maybe this is all just getting to me. Yeah, that's definitely possible. I take a deep breath and give my district partner a forced smile.

"Sorry, it's nothing," I say sheepishly and she just continues to look at me with a questioning look, rubbing her shoulder and moving it back and forth. "Are you alright? I'm sorry again, I really am."

"I know," she says simply and trains her eyes on the floor below us. The elevator makes a strange ringing sound and the doors fly open revealing a decorated hallway with a white door at the end of it. Battia and Cicely exit the elevator immediately, leaving Juniper and I alone for a moment longer.

"What do you mean you know?" I say a bit too harshly and she looks up at me with a slight grin. I convince my face to soften and return the sheepish smile. When she doesn't respond I am unable to help myself, the words exiting my lips before I get the chance to stop them, my voice dropping to a whisper. "What else do you know?"

She considers me for a moment, a slightly amused expression staying on her face for just mere seconds before she realizes my question is completely serious. She shrugs slightly and pushes past me to exit the elevator and follow Battia and Cicely to our suite. "Plenty."

* * *

**Trystan Rayon, 17, District Eight**

Santanna asks where her room is the second we reach the apartment, excusing herself to get changed out of her costume. I want to tell her not to bother, that she looks fine the way she is, but that would be a lie. The tie dye fabrics that we were both placed in to represent District Eight don't exactly compliment her skin or face, not that I'm an expert on fashion. I know what looks good though, and I know I looked far better than she did. That much is painfully obvious to anyone who saw us together.

I decide against going to my room to change, the multi-colored shorts are comfy enough and are probably the closest thing to pajamas I will likely find in this place. My bare chest doesn't feel remotely as cold as it did in the stables, where cold rushes of air could get to me. In here it's pretty warm actually, a comfortable temperature at least. It's nice to know that we all get taken care of before the arena, that's definitely a plus.

As soon as Maddox sees that Santanna has left he too excuses himself to his room. The two of them had a kind of connection since the train rides and I can't really complain. Neither of them seem like my kind of people, both of them just a bit too happy and giddy. They need to relax just a bit, no one likes a busy body. Adonis, our Capitol Mentor, finds himself a mirror and plants himself in front of it. He fluffs his hair and smiles at the reflection, casting himself a wink before finally walking away and setting himself down at the table.

I follow his lead and make my way over to the table that sits at the base of many hallways. I pull out a chair and set myself down in the comfortable frame, feeling the coolness of the material against my bare back as I do. I feel like I can talk to Adonis, the two of us have kind of had an unspoken friendship-type thing since Santanna and Maddox left us in the dining cart together.

"So what advice can you give me?" I ask bluntly and Adonis looks up with a slightly startled expression as if he had only just realized I'd been sitting directly across from him. He runs a hand through his hair lightly as he considers what to say, or maybe just what my question means. Adonis really isn't the intellectual type, as if true with so many of us good looking guys. Fortunately I'm the total package. "Training starts tomorrow, you know."

"What are you thinking of doing?" He asks me, eyes unfocused as they glanced behind me.

"I'm not sure yet, probably make some allies to help me out. Learn a bit of everything, you know?" I answer easily. It's true I had been thinking about allies since seeing the other tributes' Reapings. I'm not really sure who exactly I want to ally with, or even what I want to do after I make allies. I haven't gotten that far yet, but I will.

"Here's my advice," he lays his hands palms down on the table in front of us, his eyes finally looking at me directly. "Find a girl that will trust you and ally with her. One that will follow you wherever you go and do whatever you ask."

"Well that shouldn't be too hard," I grin and flip my hair back dramatically. "I mean, look at me."

* * *

**Sheria Maurell, 18, District Nine**

Philemon looks between Heath and I from across the table. I'm not exactly sure where Fabula has gone to but I'm not really that concerned. She'll be fine, and more importantly I need to be with the people that can actually help me go the farthest I can go. Namely, Philemon.

"I'll ask once more, what skills do you two have?" He sighs for the umpteenth time. I can tell that he's getting annoyed by Heath and I, neither of us giving direct answers as to what we can do. I want to help him help us, but I honestly cannot think of anything that I can do that would help me. I'm not strong physically, I have never touched a weapon in my life, I'm not resourceful or particularly smart. There's just nothing special about me.

Heath murmurs something and Philemon perks up slightly, sitting up in his chair with more energy than I have seen him have since I met him.

"What did you say, Heath?"

"I didn't say anything," Heath says shortly.

"I heard you, now just tell me. Please."

Heath says nothing and just glares down at the bottom of the table. I look up at Philemon who has put his fists on his temples and is taking deep breaths. I hear him murmur something about wishing he had tributes who would actually try. I want to tell him something, anything to show him that I do want to fight. That I do want to go home and I do want to win this. But nothing is said because I have nothing I can use to show him I have a chance. This session with our mentor was supposed to help us be more confident in our abilities before Training began tomorrow, but all it has done is showed me that both our fates are all but sealed.

"Sheria?" Philemon hisses and I shiver. "Please, just anything."

"I have no ability, okay," I snap, standing up from the table quickly and looking down at Philemon who stares at me with troubled eyes. "There's nothing to say alright."

With this I run from the room and the door to my room slides open. I don't even stop to admire the beautiful room that is meant only for me. All I do is lay down face first in my pillow and cry. The tears flowing down my face despite having no reason to do so. Maybe I'm finally understanding what being Reaped means for me. It means I'm going to die. Now after my little outburst I won't have anyone to help me. I'm on my own with no skills. I'm basically a walking corpse, asleep until the stake is finally driven through me to bring me to my destined grave.

I hear something being set down on my night stand and I turn around quickly, my face sticking to the pillow from the crying. I see Heath standing beside my bed with an awkward half-smile on his face, a mug of a sweet smelling liquid on the night stand. "He told me to bring you this."

"Thanks," I choke and do my best to smile back at him. He rubs his neck and looks around the room, backing slowly towards the door as he does. I almost feel bad for him, I must look terrible and now he's being made responsible for comforting me. I try and choke out an apology but the words just don't come. I'm suddenly surprised when Heath sits down on the edge of my bed and puts his hand on the bottom of my leg in what I assume to be a comforting gesture.

"I-I don't think you have no, no skills," he says clumsily and then stands up as quickly as he had sat down, leaving the room before I can even think of a response.

Maybe we're both doomed, that's something I don't think I will even be able to forget. But maybe I can have a friend while I'm stuck here. It won't change my fate, but it might make the ride there just that much easier.

* * *

**Veralidaine Vantos, 18, District Ten**

I'm not sure what time it is when I finally awaken, but by the semi-darkness that still surrounds the windows lets me know that it must be pretty damn early. I swing my feet around until they hit the floor with an ungraceful thud, a warming sensation running through my body as they do. I crouch down on the ground by my bed and touch the floor with my hand.

_Is this thing heated? _I wonder to myself, moving my hand along the ground as the warm sensation continues. _Man, they really have thought of everything. _

Once I can tear myself away from the floor I make my way towards the bathroom, or what I think might be the bathroom anyway. The first door I try is filled from top to bottom with an assortment of colors and fabrics that I assume to be my clothes. I don't know what possible reason there could be for having that much since we're only here for less than a week. Seems pretty stupid to have an entire little room dedicated to housing enough outfits to dress a stable of horses. I exit the room once I've had a good look around and the next door I try really is the bathroom. When I walk in I'm unsure but after seeing the decorated, automatic-looking toilet in the corner I confirm that this must be the bathroom. This place might be a decorated house filled with foreign, unrecognizable things, but a toilet is a toilet no matter how you decorate it.

I remove my clothes and step into something that looks to be a shower. Nothing happens for a bit and I start to get kind of impatient. By the time I notice the panel of buttons on the right hand side I am about ready to give up and put my old clothes back on without washing. I slam my finger into one of the buttons and a jet of water shoots out at me, hitting me square in the chest. A scream escapes my lips and I hit the panel again to stop it. This time water comes from above me and I take a sigh of relief, this isn't _that _difficult.

I glance around the shower for some soap but see nothing. I take a chance by pressing one of the colored buttons which results in another jet of liquid hitting my body, this one smelling like a revolting mixture of grass and some kid of food. I hit one that's a purple color and a sweet smelling jet hits me, waving over my entire body until I'm covered in the thick stuff. The harshness of the water from above increases to wash the crap off me and I sigh. It feels nice to relax, even if this thing is pretty weird to figure out.

By the time I exit the shower, my hair had been washed by another flowery soap and rinsed by another shot of water. I step out onto a towel and a warm blast of air encompasses me, drying my hair and body within seconds. I wrap a towel around myself as I step back into my bedroom. A sac is hanging on the back of my door and I open it to find a black, stretchy outfit and a pair of ankle boots with thick grips. I guess this is what I'm supposed to wear to Training, right?

I smile and throw the bag of clothes on my bed and venture into the clothing room, choosing a green shirt and tight grey pants, finishing the ensemble with a collection of gold bands and a pair of strappy shoes. I exit my room and see Decia sitting with Kor at the breakfast. The look that crosses her face when she sees my outfit is priceless, I'm guessing they weren't expecting tributes to not do what they were told. Guess again, Decia. Guess again.

* * *

**Lorcan Raff, 15, District Eleven**

I move my fork around the plate, not really hungry but not having the heart to tell my Escort who had insisted Evangeline and I take in a solid meal before officially meeting the other tributes. I don't feel like having an argument with one of the people who is trying to help me, especially not over something so small. Instead I just move the food around on the plate and take tiny bites to pretend I'm eating.

Evangeline on the other hand eats as if it would be her last meal, which is silly because we each at least have seven good meals before we leave the Capitol and go to whatever place they decide to put us for this "fight to the death." Wherever it is, I hope it's at least somewhere that I can have an advantage in. Really anywhere in nature would suit me, I'm resourceful enough. I just want to make it as far as I can, sure I want to win but there are twenty-three others who probably want the same thing. The most I can really ask for is a fair shot. It is my responsibility to make sure I get that shot, mainly by using my resources to the best of my ability. And by resources I mean Mentor.

"Do you have any tips for today?" I ask between mouthfuls of a sticky rice paste. Not exactly the most desirable way to describe it, but it's pretty good actually.

Orestes thinks about it for a moment but it is Dariella who speaks first, "_I _think that you should try and learn how to use one of those, those, sharp things with the long stick attached to them!"

"You mean a spear?" Orestes says, raising an eyebrow and fighting back a smirk.

"Yes! One of those. The tributes that used those before always did so well!" She exclaims, her voice raiding an octave causing everyone present to shudder.

"Wouldn't it make more sense to find a weapon that suits them?" Orestes says smoothly. "Not everyone can wield a spear just as not everyone can speak in that pitch."

I am unable to hide the slight smile that takes over as I watch the two argue back and forth for a while. Finally Evangeline interrupts, reminding them that we have to leave in just a few minutes and we haven't even discussed strategies or alliances.

"What do you think, Lorcan?" Orestes brings the conversation around to me and I fumble for words. I haven't exactly worked out what I want to do this morning, or this afternoon, or ever. I could definitely use some help in that area, and honestly in every area. I don't know what I'm supposed to expect today or for the rest of our time here. The first time I had heard of the Hunger Games besides a short lesson in history class was less than a month ago. I wouldn't call myself an expert.

"I'm not really sure yet actu-"

"I think I want to have allies, but I'm not really sure yet? Do you think people would ally with me?" Evangeline interrupts and I stop talking, I don't want to be rude and talk when she does. Even if I was speaking first.

"Yes of course, but I wanted to ask Lor-"

"I hope so, I don't know what I would do if I had to be all by myself for that long!" She laughs and Orestes looks over at me with a strange look on his face, one eyebrow raised in a comical matter but the look on his face one of annoyance.

"It's time to go now everyone! Wouldn't want to be late on your first day now would you?" Dariella shrieks while leading us to the elevator like a mother walking her children to school for the very first time.

As I'm standing I feel a hand on my shoulder and am about to turn to see who it is when I hear a whisper in my ear. "I wouldn't ally with her if I were you, she seems like a handful."

"Don't worry," I smile as he leads me by the arm towards the elevator. "I wasn't planning on it."

* * *

**Natalya Marrion, 17, Capitol **

I step into the elevator beside my district partner and immediately move myself away from him. He's just a little kid, I only want to hang out with people my age. It isn't fair, if that hideous Escort would have picked some other kids' name instead of mine I could have been heading home from a party right now. But no, I'm stuck in a tiny apartment with a little brat and two idiots that couldn't care less about me. It isn't fair. It just isn't fair.

I wipe the tears from my eyes before my makeup can run before I remember that I wasn't allowed to put any on this morning. I came out of my room in a panic when I saw that the vanity was bare and all the drawers were empty. When I saw Ambivia and Jerduse sitting at the dining room table instead of my parents I'd screamed at them, cursing and yelling for them to get out of my house. It wasn't until I ran back in my room and noticed it was painted white instead of purple like my room that I realized I was not in my house. After that it was just a downward spiral of memories as I recollected the past couple days, me being Reaped, paraded in front of my parents' friends in a ridiculous ball gown that looked nothing like anything I would have worn by choice. I ran back out into the dining room and demanded they call my Father and take me home, but they refused and lied that they couldn't. They surely know my family, they could bring me home if they wanted to, but they don't. They want me to suffer here with some brat I can't remember the name of. I hate them, acting like they care about me when they truly don't give a shit.

Which brings me to the makeup situation. When I came out of my room once again in a panic at my empty vanity, Ambivia told me that she had asked the Avoxes to remove all traces of makeup from the apartment. Her reason was that she wanted me and the other kid to "blend in" and "make good impressions" with the district tributes. It's stupid, why would I _want _to look like those hideous people! I've already been taken away from my friends, my family, my life! And now they want to change me into some kind of peasant? They're deranged if they think that will happen.

"Natalya are you ready? Any final questions?" Ambivia asks from behind me and I twirl around on my heels to face her.

"_Don't _talk to me, don't look at me, don't ask me anything! You already took away everything, now stop pretending you care about me!" I hiss at them, both her and Jerduse looking at me in shock. I'm so sick of being here, it's boring and stupid and I just want to go home and hang out with my friends. These people are _not _my family, _not _my friends, and _not _people that I ever want to be associated with.

The rest of the elevator ride is spent in silence. I can feel two sets of eyes staring at the back of my head but I don't care anymore. They can try to "help" me any way they want but I'll just ignore them. There's nothing they can do that can make me change my mind about them.

The elevator dings and I am the first to step off, with the other kid at my side. I push through the double doors that sit in front of us and enter into one of the biggest rooms I have ever seen in my life. Filled with weapons, plants, and at least a dozen sets of hardened eyes.

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be**_** My Chemical Romance.**_

**Song: **_**Headfirst for Halos**_

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**The blog for this story can be found on my profile.**

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**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**Our first batch of tributes has been shown, what do you think of this year's tributes so far?**_

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**Here's our first set of tributes! The next chapter will feature their district partners and then the chapter after that we will see these ones again, and then the second set again. Hopefully you enjoyed this but I can't say this is my best work. I've never been that good at introducing characters but I'm doing my best for you guys. Next update will be as soon as I can get it written, which shouldn't be that long. **


	5. We All Fall Down

**House of Wolves by My Chemical Romance **

_And I said, ashes to ashes, we all fall down,_

_I wanna hear you sing the praise._

* * *

**Obsidian Nixon, 17, District One**

"For three days you will all be trained in the art of survival before being launched into the arena. For these days you will have the entirety of Panem's knowledge at your fingertips, I advise you to use it with both insight and caution. There will be two mandatory exercises this morning and the rest will be individual," the Head Trainer instructs us from the front of the room. We have all been placed in a circle to face him and I can see some of the tributes standing tall and others already shaking. This year will be interesting, of that I can be sure. "Please head over to the gauntlet to begin the first exercise."

I follow the crowd of near identically dressed teenagers in the direction that the Trainer has pointed. All of us wear stretchy, black outfits with our district number stitched into each sleeve in white thread. All of us, that is, except a black haired girl that I cannot place. She wears a green tank top and tight grey pants, a satisfied smile ever present on her face. She definitely seems to be one of the more interesting characters I have seen here.

I spot Cecilia walking with her eyes downcast, tiny frame heading to the first mandatory exercise. Something called the Gauntlet that looks to me like a bunch of steps. Cecilia stops when a brown haired boy with a "2" on his sleeve steps in front of her, blocking her path. Her eyes look up for half a second before heading back to the floor but her expression is no longer impassive. Is it possible the emotionless girl I remember from the train is, is _blushing? _Now that's a sight that I never thought I would live to see.

Subconsciously, I begin to move towards them as the boy's lips continue to move and Cecilia's cheeks begin to redden. The second I am within talking distance I call out to Cecilia, causing her to turn to look at me for a brief second before her eyes return to the tiled floor. The look on the boy's face is pure surprise, but I don't stop there. Something makes me throw my arm around my district partner as if we were good friends when in truth I had just met her yesterday. I feel her flinch from beneath my arm but I don't move it, instead I move closer to her and smile coyly.

"Cecilia, we're supposed to get over to the Gauntlet now I believe," I tell her, flashing a wink up to the Two boy. "Oh, and who would you be?"

"Brennan," he says and puts out his hand to meet my unready handshake.

"Obsidian," I counter. "But we really must be going."

I lead Cecilia away by the crook of her neck and she follows me without hesitation. We make it to back of the line at the Gauntlet, Brennan lining up behind us silently.

"Don't worry," I whisper to her so that Two cannot hear us. "I'll keep him away from you."

She nods but says nothing, though I know she must be grateful. No one should want to get involved with someone like him. He just looks like trouble. A girl like Cecilia doesn't deserve to be put to that kind of trouble, but I'll keep her safe. At least for now, while its possible for me to do that.

* * *

**Invidius Regium, 18, District Two**

"Next."

The rope course in front of me does nothing to intimidate me. Nothing in this place will hurt me, that much I know from school. We are here for training, there will be time to harm each other and attempt to assassinate the competition when we are launched into the arena. In here we are safe, I need not worry about any harm coming about me for the next three days. Not that my mind can truly function to the point where I can worry about getting hurt. Only one thing has occupied my mind since my name was called at the Reaping ceremony.

_Rambin. _

He is always near me, or was I guess now, now that he is not all I can think of is him. I must get back to him, that is the only way I will be able to think of anything else. My mentor thought me energized to fight when I asked them how I should act and what I could do to increase my chances of survival. I now know that I have to train. I know very little about anything above spontaneous self-defense, and today I planned to increase those skills as best I could manage. Giving myself as much experience as I could in all of the weapons that are most commonly found in the arena.

That's another obstacle I was told I would have to get over to get back home. The Hunger Games have been dead for some thirty years. I have not seen what they are like, I do not know what kind of things I should expect to see or go through. Fortunately my Mentor has been able to show me various clips of video from the early years when the Hunger Games was active, and there is much I have been able to gather from those. Strategy is an important element of a winning tribute, you must find a strength that you possess and build on that to create a plan for survival. Camouflage is something I know I must become passable at as the tributes that fight and fight often tire and are killed easily.

I have weighed my options as being with or without an ally and I have discussed it further with my Mentor. Both of us have come to the decision that I will not make any allies, I will trust myself and not have to worry about a knife in the back. On the other hand I will not be able to count on the skills of another person, I will be alone.

A man with a dark beard and a bald, tattooed head nudges me forward and I see that I have travelled to the top of the rope course while in my thoughts. I grip the top rope tightly and allow my feet to drop from beneath me as I work my way easily across the first section. Just as I about to let my feet drop from the second platform a head of brown hair catches my eyes and my eyes focus intently on him, a flash of familiarity starting in me.

Seconds after he turns to face my direction I land with a thud on the floor beneath the rope course. No sense of pain comes, instead I stand up hurriedly and begin to walk back to the line, where the brown haired boy stands waiting. Another hand grabs my shoulder and I smack it away. The owner of the hand does not take this very well and he thrusts me forward with both hands, sending my stumbling towards the other stations.

"Mandatory exercises are over, you may now start your individual training."

I keep walking in the direction I was pushed but my eyes never waver from the moving line. Maybe I don't have to win to get back to him. Maybe Rambin is here with me after all, and I must get to him despite these people's attempt to keep us apart. Yet again our connection will triumph, I will get back to him. No questions to be asked.

* * *

**Zander Flyx, 16, District Three**

"You know," I say loudly to the boy sitting in front of me with his eyes focused down on a set of cards labelled with flowers. "It would be a lot easier to sort them if you spread them out like this. See, now you can see them all."

The boy gives me a strange look and stares down at the cards that I have spread out in a semi circle on the table he sits at. I smile proudly, I know it's probably not in my best interest to help the competition but I just cannot see how people can do things so inefficiently. It just makes me wonder how some people can survive being so idiotically slow.

"Thanks," he mutters under his breath and my smile widens. I'll admit it is not often that I get thanks for my help, most people just prefer to stay in their routine inefficiency I guess. He's awfully quiet though, I would have thought that a Capitol tribute would be more, I don't know, social? The "C" on his shoulder marks him as a Capitolite but I find it hard to believe. He looks, well, normal. Brown hair, somewhat short stature, freckles. None of the usual multi-colored hairstyles, extended eyelashes, or glued on animal parts. Either that's proof that not all Capitolites are insane or it's proof that there is such thing as inter-district adoption. For argument's sake I think I am pretty much forced to agree with the former. "You know anything about plants?"

"Plants?" I laugh. "District Three, remember? Not a plant to be seen for miles."

"Oh yeah," he mutters, looking slightly embarrassed with himself. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize," I say simply and sit myself down beside him. "What are you doing, by the by?"

"Trying to brush up on some plant stuff," he mumbles. "Nothing that interesting really."

"Seems pretty interesting to me."

"You think so?"

"No not really," I smile and he looks at me with a hurt look for a split second before his face too breaks out in a wide grin. "But if you're into it it's pretty cool I guess?"

"Yeah," he says with the same toothy grin still on his freckled face. "It's kind of the family business, plants and remedies."

I consider this for a second. I have already admitted to this guy that I know next to nothing about plants, which in return tells him I know nothing about medicine. He obviously is knowledgeable enough, by the look of the difficulty of the cards. Is he trying to hint about an alliance? That would likely be beneficial to me if he is. I'm not exactly an asset on my own, but with allies. With allies I could do some real damage. That's exactly what I need, people to watch my back so that I make sure I get my butt to the final eight or so.

"Are you suggesting an alliance?" I say quickly and watch as his face reddens slightly at the, rather blunt I might say, words.

"Um, sure, maybe, I'm not sure," he stutters for a moment before I hold up a hold to tell him to stop.

"Say no more," I wink. "The name's Zander, District Three as you know."

"Remington, Capitol tribute," he says, "but I go by Remy."

* * *

**Seanna Fyera, 14, District Four**

First Soren and now him. I don't know how much more of these people I can take right now. This whole thing has just happened far too quickly. I don't know what's happening and I really would just love to take a week long nap to just try and figure out what exactly I should be doing. Volusia has tried, but I don't want her to tell me what I'm supposed to do. I want to just know. So that I can be sure it's right. The only person I can really trust is myself, that's what I was told by my mother when we were allowed to talk for a minute in the Justice Building. I'm the only one to trust.

Now there's someone else that is getting into my brain, making me think about something else. It's not that I don't appreciate the attention, I would have probably relished in it at any other point in my life. Just not now. Not when I have so much more to focus on and so much riding on doing everything exactly perfect.

"Can't look away, can you?" I hear a voice yell from across the station and I realize that I have been starring at the boy who's been following me for a good while. District Three, I can tell by the embroidery. Him and the Capitol boy have been followed behind me from station to station while I tried to learn something or even just tried to get away from the business of some of the more desired stations. Every time he caught me sneaking a look behind me at him he would wink and smile that arrogant smile that made me want to both punch him in the face and smile back.

I keep my eyes trained on the boy, not much older than I am, to see what he will do. He seems to hesitate a second when I hold his gaze but soon enough he sashays up to me, the Capitol boy trailing behind him solemnly. I look away just before he reaches me, ducking my eyes down to half-heartedly concentrate on the rows of knots in front of me. A rope twitches in my hand but I only wrap it around my hand subconsciously, waiting for the boy to say something upon arrival.

"Didn't you hear me sweet cheeks?"

I look up lamely and fake a confused expression, looking at each boy in turn before my eyes cast back down to the rope. I won't show him I'm interested in what he has to say. Even if I get the feeling that he wants me for some sort of alliance. He seems to be scouting the area for potential allies, first finding the Capitol boy and then looking towards me. Whatever it is, I want in. Definitely. It can't be any worse than trying to figure this all out alone. At least allies would take away some of the burden in that I won't have to know _everything_ I need to live.

"Can I help you with something?" I ask nonchalantly. Just because I know what I will say if they ask, doesn't mean that I am going to say this much. Better not to seem eager I'd say.

"Well I was hoping for a kiss," he winks. "But I think I would settle for you joining Remy and I in an alliance."

"Hm," I ponder falsely. "I'm not sure."

"What's this?" I hear another voice come from behind me and I half-jump. When I whirl around I see a girl with dark hair and narrowed eyes directed at the Three boy. I recognize her as his district partner, a rather pretty girl just older than I am.

"I was just asking Four here if she wanted to join my alliance," Three says smoothly. "Not that it's any of your business, Vienna."

"Of course it's my business," she counters harshly. "Because I want to join too."

"Just couldn't stay away, eh Vienna?" He half smiles and nudges Remy with his elbow causing the quiet boy to flinch.

"Oh shut up, Zander."

The boy, Zander, turns to me then and asks with a wink, holding out one hand to me, "so what do you say, Four?"

"Sienna," I say quickly and pull his hand into a fast shake, sealing the deal. "I'm in."

* * *

**Grace Willow, 17, District Five**

It's so much nicer in the Training Center than it is in the cafeteria. All throughout the Center there are places to hide, shadows to be cast over me. Concealment.

In here it's much different. The lights that consume the entire room are far too bright, reaching into even the far corner and allowing now shadows to be cast over the plastic tables. I feel like I did during the Tribute Parade, with all those lights shining down on me and all those people watching everything I did. I hated it, hated it, hated it. I don't like it when there are so many people near me. I'd much rather be alone. No one to see me, no one to judge me, no one to make me feel vulnerable. In my shadows I was perfectly safe and comforted. The shadows are my friends, they listen to me and cover me in a layer of darkness when I don't want to be seen by the rest of the world. I depend on them and this room has none.

It feels like they have taken away my friends and left me in a room of strangers; slit eyed and dangerous. I just want to go back and find my friends again, it's too bright in here. I want to just cover my head with my arms and create my own shadows, maybe that will make some of my friends come back. I try it and feel comfort instantly rush through my body. I can't have friends that are real like the people in here with me, it's just not who I am.

I tried having friends like everyone else, I really did. My parents were always so pleasantly surprised when I would bring home a little girl from my class or my neighbor from down the road. It made them smile that I was popular, but I never really was. I couldn't talk to these "friends" like I thought I should be able to. In the nights that I sat lonely in my room I had to make my own friends, beings that would listen to me when no one else was around to hear my whispered dreams.

There was always a little light at the far end of my room, set on a wicker dresser that contained the small amount of belongings I had. In the darkest hours of the night I could see the flickering of the dying light and I would try and talk to it, but it always moved. It never felt like it listened to me. It reminded me too much of my parents. They too seemed to be there all the time but they never really were, they were always too busy flickering in and out to really be there for me. The light didn't stop and listen to what a younger me needed to speak out loud, it just kept flickering in and out.

That's when I started talking to the wall behind my bed. My tiny, crouched body would cast a still shadow on the space and it wouldn't move when I needed it there. It was always right where I could find it. My shadow, my friend. Never flickering in and out, just sitting there with me when I spoke of childhood secrets and far-fetched dreams. My shadow never laughed when I told it things, it just sat and listened until morning.

I guess somewhere along the line I stopped trying to please my parents. I stopped bringing down "friends" to my house and I stopped walking home with the rest of the kids who lived around me. People called me weird, they still did in truth, but it didn't bother me. The shadows listened, that was all that mattered. I can always find them, if I look hard enough I can always find a friend.

* * *

**Hudson Rienhart, 13, District Six**

At lunch I had tried so hard to find Winter again but she wasn't anywhere to be seen. It's not like I needed her, no, I was independent. I didn't need anyone. But it was nice to have someone else there, you know, just to be there sometimes and keep you from going insane with loneliness. I thought Winter could be that person, but it turns out she's not. Since training began this morning she has all but avoided me. Not that I went looking for her, that would mean I was dependant.

Cole was my company now. Cole from District Five whose partner he couldn't find at lunch either. We just kind of ended up together I guess, I sat with him at lunch and we ate in silence, two sets of eyes scanning around the room aimlessly until the bell ringed for lunch to be over. After that it just seemed to be one of those unspoken friendships, neither of us felt the need to make it official through words, it just was.

He doesn't really seem like a sentimental kind of guy anyway, not really one for formalities which is perfectly fine with me. I'd rather not have to confirm that I was counting on someone else besides myself. It's not something a Rienhart does. It's just not in our blood to depend on anything or anyone besides ourselves.

We're among the poorest families in District Six; I've been told we are about on par with District Twelve in terms of wealth in our sector. But you'd never know it, not unless you had heard of us. Rienharts don't take anything from anyone without being able to pay it back, fairly, right away. We'd lived like that since before the first Rebellion and nothing had changed us. Not even our own family members were permitted to help each other out. It just wasn't done. It was kind of like the unspoken alliance between Cole and I, no one said anything to discourage it but it was just a known fact. Rienharts don't need help from anyone, not even each other.

Since my mom died it's become harder to get what I need. I used to be able to somewhat go to her so that she could get me odd jobs around District Six. She never told my father this, he would not be pleased if he knew I needed someone else's help to feed myself. She made it that much easier for me to earn the money to buy myself a slice of bread every morning and a handful of blueberries each evening. With her gone I've managed, but barely. Though I would never say anything to let him know I'm struggling. I cannot be a failure, definitely not in his eyes. He did it when he was my age and so will I, so is the Rienhart blood in me.

I notice that I have wandered back over to where the Gauntlet is set up. We had to do this thing this morning and I completely failed it. The trainer posted at this particular station looks up at me and nods, giving me all the permission I need to begin the run.

The first step is to climb up the ladder to get to the first podium, I know there are no hitters at this point, no people that will hit you in the knees and back to try and make you fall off. Jump one, landed. No hitters. Jump two, just landed and I feel something hit me in the knees. I wobble but manage to secure myself on the nearest podium, my toes just catching on the edge before I fall forward on it. Two more hitters get me, one on the shoulder and one on the small of my back. I tumble forwards almost instantly, failed.

My vision goes a bit blurry from the fall and for a minute I just lay between podiums willing the things in the room to stop spinning. Finally things begin to clear up and I tilt my head up to see a pretty blonde girl standing above me, a grey seven embroidered on her sleeve. She smiles down at me with curiosity in her eyes and I force myself to smile back, jumping to my feet as quickly as possible. The room spins and I fall, landing myself safely in the blonde girl's arms.

"Don't worry little guy, I got you."

* * *

**Juniper Haywood, 17, District Seven**

Just like the day before, the neat little training suit is hanging on my door knob by the time I wake up. I walk over and feel the stretchy, clingy fabric with the tips of my fingers, grimacing in the memory of the uncomfortable outfit yesterday. It doesn't breath, it clings to each and every curve of your body and makes you feel naked even though you are fully clothes. I hated wearing it, and was reminded of my discomfort each time I dared to move. It was suffocating, it was embarrassing because I felt so exposed.

An image of the District Ten girl goes through my mind. Each and every time I saw her I was reminded of the discomfort of my own outfit. She didn't come to training in uniform, she wore something that looked like she had picked it herself. She looked so much more comfortable than anyone else. I almost wish I would have thought of it myself.

For a moment I consider the closet I know is beside my bathroom. Full of clothes of all styles and fabrics, surely something in there that would fit my tastes. She never got in trouble, not that I had heard of anyway. What are they going to do anyways? Kill us? They pretty much already have that one covered.

In that moment I decide to do it. What harm could it possibly do? It would more than likely help me more than it would hurt me. Who cares anyways, it's only clothes after all.

I head into the closet and choose a light pink tank top from a pile of pink and a pair of denim pants that seem to require being about two feet too short for my legs. It looks kind of good though, considering. I choose a pair of white slip on shoes and for good measure I snatch a wraparound headband from a black bin labelled "HAIR". I slide it over my blonde hair and smile into the mirror at myself. I look like me again, albeit far more stylish and Capitol-looking. But still me, not a killer-in-training. Just Juniper Haywood, a seventeen year old girl from District Seven.

I think of what I have to do today as I subconsciously wash my face with a foamy soap. I already accomplished my goal for yesterday, make allies. Hudson and Cole aren't exactly what I would call useful when it comes to strength or even intelligence, but they're good kids. They're pretty young too, especially Hudson. I guess part of me wants t just watch over him, you know, make sure he's okay for awhile at least. There's no harm in that, right? No one needs to be totally independent, especially not someone that young. Maybe I can give him a little peace of mind for the next few days if nothing else.

The little guy deserves that much , right?

* * *

**Santanna Cromms, 17, District Eight**

I'm not really sure how my alliance came together, actually. Yesterday, it just sort of happened for me and Rict and today Soren from Four joined us as well. We just sort of started fooling around with the weapons stations and just having a good time. It's been fun, even though I know that's really weird to be thinking at this point. Our lives are on the line, but it honestly doesn't feel like we're anywhere but some kind of school or class.

"So," Rict whispers from behind me and I jump two feet in the air, shrieking with surprise that soon turns into uncontrollable laughter. "Does this make us an alliance or what, I'm sort of confused."

I shrug and smile at him. The truth is that has been bothering me since the very beginning of yesterday when Rict and I started fooling around. Were we actually an alliance? Did that mean we had to make plans and think about strategy? Because I really didn't want to do that. This was fun, just hanging around. I don't want this to feel like a fight to the death, at least not yet anyways.

"Well, I think we could be a good team," he smiles, albeit a tad too widely. Rict puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes tightly, keeping my eyes locked with his. They're so green, a really pretty light color like the top of a leaf. "What do you think?"

"Sounds cool," I say shortly.

"Hey, Soren!" Rict shouts over my head at the District Four boy and I hear him drop something metal to the ground. Rict's eyes soar right over my head at the other boy, forgetting me completely. "She said she's in."

I sigh despite myself and begin moving towards the rack of spears nearby while the boys talk. I should have known they would have been talking before they asked me. Boys are like that. I just kind of wish that, well, that it could have been just us first. Soren's nice though, I enjoy his company. He'll be a great addition to our alliance, or I guess I'll be a good addition to his and Rict's.

I shake my head to snap myself out of it and choose a thin, long spear from the rack, twirling the metal between my fingertips and throwing it lightly into the air only to catch it a fraction of a second later. I turn quickly and throw the spear over my shoulder towards the target. Instead of hitting the plastic I hear a sharp clang of metal and watch a black-suited trainer scramble out of the way. I giggle and the trainer looks up at me with a deep frown, eyes narrowed at me.

All day it has seemed like the trainer and the Gamemakers have been watching us, I don't know, more closely than before? Yesterday they all just kind of eyed us half-consciously and walked by us with disinterest or possible slight disdain. Today though they all narrow their eyes to slits if one of us so much as catches their eyes. The only thing I can say that has changed is the mood of the tributes today, everyone seems somewhat more relaxed. I know I at least feel more comfortable, those training suits were death in fabric form. Picking my own clothes is at least a billion times better.

It's weird, ever since the District Ten girl decided to wear her own clothes instead of the provided uniform it seems that everyone has chosen to wear what they like. Only four tributes that I can see are still wearing the black, grey, and red jumpsuit; the girls from One and Two and the boys from Ten and Eleven. Those tributes still look uptight or just uncaring, but the mood in the Training Center has lifted noticeably. Nobody feels like they're being trained to fight, we all just feel like we're hanging out. How could that be a bad thing?

* * *

**Heath Carlisle, 17, District Nine**

I feel like everyone could be watching me, all these strangers that have been locked in here with me for two days. Locked, like in prison. As in we're never getting out. The Peacekeepers are probably sharpening up the guillotine as we stand here like stupid animals. They're going to kill us, that's the message I got from all the people talking back where I used to live. I don't know why, but I feel like now I should trust what I have overheard from them. It's better than believing the sewage coming out of the lips of these people. They think they're going to be the ones doing the killing but that's not what I heard from the other people. They told us after the announcement and during school that the Capitol were the ones that killed us.

That's why I can't stand to be around any of them. They're all saying things that can't be true. I wouldn't know who to believe, I actually didn't for a long time, but I decided to follow the feeling in me that tells me who to trust. Between the people I have seen for many years growing up and the people that only have just come to be near me the choice is clear. Even that girl that stays in the same little house as I do, I don't think she knows that these people are lying to her. Maybe sometime I will tell her the truth I know, but I don't know. She seems like of detached, I'm not sure if she would listen to my truth.

"Tributes, can I have your full attention, please."

I don't bother turning around when I hear the man talking. It's not like he has any sort of news that could be of any importance to me. I keep on trying to start the stupid fire with just two dry sticks and a little pile of bark and twigs. It's been a few minutes now with me sitting on a mat trying to start the freaking thing, but I'll get it. Not like I have anywhere I'm supposed to be.

"Due to recent technology updates here in the Capitol we are happy to be able to help you further in your training by providing a new method of training that you all will now be testing. We call it, the Kill-Zone. Please gather around the far mats so that we can explain further."

I can sense everyone around me migrating towards the far side of the room. I remain in place, sitting on the mat where I have been for a good half hour, rubbing sticks together that have finally started to smoke a bit. After a few minutes I hear the same voice repeat his suggestion to move towards the far side of the room but I only huff at him and continue. I've almost got a spark, just another minute or so-

A pair of white gloved hands grab my by my arm and in an instant my fist lands against his temple and he releases his grip almost immediately. A wave of gasps runs down the room but I pay no attention, only seeing the very real wave of people in white rushing towards me with their guns drawn. So this is when they kill me, this quick eh?

No bullets enter me though, and I am roughly grabbed again before I can do much but squirm and struggle. Two of them have their arms locked with mine to hold my fists back and another three walk behind us, I can feel them looking at us. They push me into line between the other tributes, a blonde girl and a green eyed boy, and release my arms slowly. Their guns still are trained on me but I barely notice as one of the Gamemakers steps down from his balcony to address us in front of a set of six narrow walkways.

"Tributes," he says with a coy grin. "Welcome to the Kill-Zone."

* * *

**Kor Epson, 18, District Ten**

As the short man addresses us, an army of Avoxes marches out from the side doors of the Training Center, each holding something that looks like a plastic shield and a bag with something rather heavy in it.

"Each of you will be outfitted in a specially calibrated suit. Each part contains a sensor that will respond to hits and shots from other tributes. Six of you will enter the Kill-Zone arena at a time, choosing a weapon from the racks beside me before you do. None of the weapons can harm you any further than a bruise, but upon impact they will cause a slight shock and then that part of you will freeze. Depending on where you are hit, you may still be able to play or you may "die" meaning that you will be forced to the floor or wall nearest to you and you are officially out of the exercise."

"Once all but one of you have been "killed" the exercise will end. Any questions?" He waits less than a second before answering his own question. "No? Good. Let's begin. The groups will be pulled randomly by myself, as soon as you have been called head to the rack, choose your weapon and enter the Kill-Zone."

I take a deep breath and glance over at the weapons rack. This is just like a practice Hunger Games, and I can feel the anxiety welling up in me. I thought I would have more time than this to prepare, granted this isn't real but it feels like it is.

"Group one: Vienna, District Three; Invidius, District Two; Remington, Capitol; Sheria, District Nine; Heath, District Nine; and Rict, District Seven."

Each of them walks cautiously over to the edge of the weapons rack, some of them, like Rict, grab a weapon quickly and rush into one of the doors that closes immediately after him. Only one door per person, per group. I should remember that to avoid getting a door to the face. Others, like Remington, pick up several different weapons before settling on a thick knife. By the time the last of the Group One tributes has entered into the Kill-Zone, all six doors are closed and the tension is running high.

"Group Two," as soon as the words are spoken all six doors fly open to reveal nothing but empty darkness, all six tributes long gone. The Gamemaker motions swiftly to a board to his left as the first slot is filled with a "24th" place sign next to it; Sheria, District Nine. The first one "killed". "Group Two: Hudson, District Six; Veralidaine, District Ten; Obsidian, District One; Natalya, Capitol; Soren, District Four; and Santanna, District Eight."

These tributes are quicker to run as their names are called. After seeing the first name on the board, seconds later joined by a second; Remington, Capitol, 23rd. The tension is nearly visible to say the least. Group Three is called as soon as the last door has closed and those tributes enter even faster. By the time the fourth group's names begin to be called, the five other tributes that are waiting alongside me run full speed to gather the last of the weapons and dash into the doors. I grab one of the only weapons left, a thin spear about the width of my pinkie, and dash through the nearest door to find that light welcomes me into the Kill-Zone.

Something hits me directly in the back and I feel a slight bruise forming. I reach behind me to pull a soft throwing knife off of my armour and immediately feel a surprisingly pungent shock course through my body before I am forced towards the wall beside the door I had just come from. A girl with a "3" on her sleeve rushes over and plucks the knife off the ground in front of me before running off to hide behind one of the many crates littered throughout the mock-arena.

I'm already dead, after only a few seconds in the arena. Any chance I thought I might have had is fleeing my mind quickly. What hope can I have of surviving if I can't even protect myself from a foam knife in a training exercise?

* * *

**Evangeline Dyre, 16, District Eleven**

I squeal when I feel a large thump on my shoulder and I whirl around to face the person behind me. Their face flinches before I can even say a word to them and some sort of force pulls them to the wall to my left. District Two, weren't they supposed to be the good fighters? That's what people said back home, well I don't think they've got their facts straight.

A painful shock runs through my arm and I shriek in surprise as my arm becomes extremely heavy, falling limply to my side. I try and lift it but it doesn't even respond. Wow, the effects are amazing in here. It really does feel like my arm has been sliced off, besides the obvious lack of pain anyway.

I creep along beside the crates and see the girl with wavy blonde hair from District Five crouching between two pieces of eloquently placed debris. "That's not what this exercise is for, Five. It's a fighting exercise, not a hiding exercise."

She turns around to face me with wide eyes and I roll my own eyes at her. It's pretty obvious that she isn't going to do very well in here, or in the real arena for that matter, but I figured she would appreciate the advice anyway. "You're _supposed _to be trying to hit the others, you know, with your weapon."

She shrugs and looks around her, but she doesn't really seem to be taking what I'm saying to heart. I bend down beside her and hit her lightly on the knee with the knife I decided on and she immediately freezes up and her eyes stare up at me like she's in some kind of pain. I remember the pain that came when that boy hit my shoulder with his fake weapon and feel a bit of guilt course through me.

_That's the point of this, _I remind myself. _I can't spend time worrying about whether or not I hurt people when I'm technically supposed to be the one trying to cause the pain. _

Before I can say another word to Five she has crawled away and is out of sight besides the one frozen leg that sticks out from behind another crate. I decide not to go after her, if she doesn't want to listen to me then that is just fine. I really wish she would though, it would just make it so much easier to help people if they just shut up and let me help them.

I feel a hard bump on my head and cry out, moving my hands to shield myself even though I suspect it is too late. Sure enough I feel something force me to the wall, still in a crouched position from speaking with the Five girl. I sigh loudly and try to cross my arms in front of my chest as usual but they don't move.

_Oh yeah, I'm frozen duh. _I remind myself with a mental slap to the forehead.

A sharp shriek echoes through the open space and the white haired Capitol girl ends up sliding to the wall just beside me. Her body is standing just inches from me as she struggles to move away before swearing loudly and letting out a deep puff of breath. I look up at her for a second but she glares down at me with such disdain that I decide to look elsewhere, she doesn't exactly seem to be in the best of moods.

I notice Lorcan standing behind cover just several meters away from me, holding a knife by the tip of the handle. I roll my eyes at him and call out to him from across the arena. "Hold it by the _entire _handle, Lorcan. Otherwise you won't get as much power if you actually hit something."

Lorcan startles at the sound of my voice and drops the knife entirely. As he goes to collect it, the boy from Eight swishes his weapon along his throat and he too joins the many stuck/dead tributes. I am unable to hold in the confirmation of the fact that I was right, he got killed because he wasn't holding the knife right and he dropped it. "I told you."

* * *

**Remington Flores, 15, Capitol **

The lights come on in the mini-arena and a small group of trainers enter through the six doors and begin to press buttons on the suits of everyone stuck to the wall and floor. I'm the first tribute overlooked of course, being frozen to the floor in the corner of the room. Second "dead", not exactly something to bring your hopes and esteem up now is it?

I watch with envy as a sequence is punched into each of the suits and I memorize it pretty easily. If only I could move my arms I would be able to deactivate my won suit. The best I can do at this point is wiggle my fingers, which are too far away to do me any good.

One of the only benefits that I noticed about being "killed" so quickly was that I got to see the tactics of some of the other tributes. District Five hid out a lot, didn't really cause much attention until Nine froze her to a crate near the end. The little boy named Hudson flew through the arena, avoiding blows and dealing out a few minor freezes himself, that is until the boy from Seven grabbed him by the arm and fake-stabbed him and sealed him to the floor as well.

The most interesting, and probably the most clever strategy that I noticed was that of the District One male. He, well technically, he cheated. I saw him "die" at least twice, but he kept one hand clasped onto the control panel at the neck of the suit. He knew the sequence, he revived himself. At first I thought he had just faked the freezing but the second time I knew he must be cheating, I saw the blow delivered by the Eight girl, there was no way that wouldn't have been classified as fatal. He knew the sequence, and it took me a good while to figure out how. The Avoxes used it so that the suits would become sensitive to the weapons' hits, he memorized it somehow.

He won, but he cheated. He may be able to cheat at this game, but not when it happens for real, not when we're in the arena without a deactivation sequence. There is no way to hit a few buttons and come back to life. But seeing him figure this out made me worry about him. Clearly he was clever, more so than any other tribute I had encountered so far.

Finally a trainer noticed me laying in the corner and he came over to unfreeze my suit. I got up and headed for the exit as soon as I could feel my legs again, my joints cracking from staying in one position so long. I must have been lying there for a good half hour, the game went on for that long. Too bad I couldn't have actually had a chance.

I guess that's how it will be in the arena too, no second chances. If you're in the wrong place at the the wrong time you die, it's as simple as that.

I look at the placements on the board as I exit the Kill-Zone, seeing my name beside the 23rd slot makes a new knot of worry twist inside of me. I'm not so sure that I can do this anymore, this didn't feel real until right this moment. The Hunger Games really are just one big game, but I'm playing for my life.

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be**_** My Chemical Romance.**_

**Song: **_**House of Wolves**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. It has been updated with allies. I also updated Kill-Zone placements, because I can and did.**

* * *

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

**_What do you think of the second batch of tributes? _**

**_Any early favourites from either set?_**

* * *

**Sorry this took so long, that's life I guess? Sorry if any of the ideas I put into the Capitol chapters seen, odd, to you. I sometimes get bored and the result of this is, well, this. The Kill-Zone is your first example of Olive getting bored with character development but stay tuned, there **_**will **_**be more. **

**- Olive**


	6. Eye On You

**Teenagers by My Chemical Romance**

_Because they sleep with a gun, _

_And keep an eye on you, son, _

_So they can watch all the things you do._

* * *

**Cecilia Howlite, 16, District One**

We all file into the large waiting room like a line of ducks, one after the other. The walls are grey with concrete that matches the floor and ceiling. Strung along the walls were several thick benches that all of us sat down on upon entering. It's strange to watch how quickly everyone separates from each other upon entering, it's as if all of the others might carry some transmittable disease. They may be right though, each one of us carries the lethal disease of being real people, get too close and you might catch a weakness for someone.

I sit myself down a few feet away from the District Ten girl who stares idly down at the floor. I can feel eyes on me, though I am too afraid to look up and find them, I know they`re watching me though. I know it. They`re watching to see what I`ll do, but ha! Joke`s on them because I am not stupid enough to do anything out here with all these eyes on me. They can stare at me all they want, I won`t give away anything that might show weakness.

"Have you figured out yet what you're going to do in there?" I flinch as someone sits down right beside me, their knees so close to mine that they touch. My eyes move upwards and I see my district partner, Obsidian, smiling down at me. I really just wanted this time to myself, but I have never gotten that since we arrived here so I content myself to his presence.

I think we're allies, but neither of us has yet confirmed it in words. If we're indeed in an alliance would it not be beneficial to share my strategy with him and any skills that could prove helpful to our survival? That would make sense. But what if we aren't really in an alliance and he is just being friendly with me so that I will spill my strengths and he can go back to his real alliance and tell them all about me. What if he's not a friend but a foe? Then I shouldn't tell him anything, right? The problem is I'm not sure what he is to me.

After a minute or so I shrug my shoulders and offer a forced half-smile. He seems satisfied with my answer and turns away from me to scan the room around us where all the other tributes have settled into corners with their alliance and left good distances between themselves and the unfamiliar tributes. After just a couple seconds Obsidian leans into me and whispers through gritted teeth. "Has the District Two boy been bothering you again?"

I don't know what his problem with that guy is, maybe he really cares about me and wants to protect me from anyone that has the potential to hurt me. It's strange though, since Two doesn't really seem like the type to cause harm to anyone. Also because for the minute or so that he did talk to me he was rather friendly. I can't blame Obsidian for being suspicious though, isn't everyone?

"No," I breathe and find myself looking for the boy amidst the other tributes surrounding us, just in case my district partner is right and he is trying to get near me again to harm me.

"Good," he says and his lips curl into a contented smile. "Tell me if he ever does. I'll fix him."

* * *

**Brennen Dwyloe, 17, District Two**

"District One, Cecilia Howlite."

The thin blonde stands up solemnly from her spot on the bench beside her district partner and steps silently towards the door. Barely anyone watches the door slide open above her, all returning after mere seconds to their polite conversations. My eyes land on Invidius who sits idly in the corner, absentmindedly tapping her fingers against her thigh and mumbling things to herself.

Now she's a strange girl if I've ever seen one; never talking to anyone but just sitting in her room all alone. And coming from me that's saying something, I've met so many girls in my lifetime. Kissed too many to count and done more with quite a few. Not with my parent's knowing, though, of course not. That would disappoint them. It's funny how they know so little about the son that they believe to be the only living heir to their business and finances. I almost wish I could show them the part of me that is actually real, I'm not exactly the perfect child that they think I am. There's nothing wrong with me, at least not in my eyes, but I'm scared that they would be disappointed in who I really am. Just because I don't want to have a boring, preset life like they have already decided for our entire family.

Does that make me a failure? Or does that just make me, me?

A flicker of white hair catches the corner of my eye and I swivel around to see the Capitol girl sitting wedged between the dark-skinned male from Eleven and the shaggy-haired boy from Eight. She throws her head back in a dramatic laugh at something one of them has said and the boys each flash an expression of confusion for half a second before following her lead. Laughing at some joke that they probably neither heard nor understood.

Without a second thought I rise from my solitary seat and march over to where the two boys have surrounded the gorgeous girl. Only the boy from Eight notices me approaching, sending me a look of warning that I fully ignore. As soon as I am within a voice's reach I clear my throat and plaster on my widest smile. "Hey, beautiful. Is this seat taken?"

"No, of course not!" She giggles and turns back to face Eight, flashing him a toothy grin. "You don't mind, right Trystan?"

Trystan shakes his head sharply and reluctantly moves over to make just enough of a space between himself and the girl that I am able to squeeze myself beside her. I face the boy whose spot I just took and give him a cocky wink, watching as his eyes turn to slits before me. "Thanks, man."

Without giving him a chance to respond I swivel back to face the girl, seeing her eyes wide in admiration as they scan my face and body. I reach over and place an arm around her. "What's your name, beautiful?"

"Natalya," she titters and I can't help but smile in response. Wow, does she ever have a cute laugh.

"Brennan," I wink. "I just came over to see if a gorgeous girl like you had any allies yet. Wouldn't want you to be unprotected when the blood starts shedding, now would we?"

"Actually," she drawls with just the tiniest hint of the proper Capitol accent that sounds just the slightest bit like Ennia. "I do, but I wouldn't be one to protest if you would join us."

"I'd love to, Natalya."

"That's great to hear!" She gushes, pulling herself closer to me until I can feel her breath on my neck and them pushing away just as quickly. "This is Kor, and this is Trystan."

* * *

**Vienna Noble, 16, District Three**

They call my name and I rise immediately to my feet. I feel Zander quickly take hold of my wrist and give it a tight squeeze. I look back at him and he flashes me an arrogant smile and winks flirtatiously. In response I roll my eyes and pull my hand back to my side.

The wide metal door opens vertically and I step through it as soon as the opening is tall enough; feeling the light wink at the back of my neck as they door rushes closed behind me. My footsteps echo in the cavernous training center, now seeming even more enormous due to the lack of tributes within.

I don't realize how nervous I truly am until I see the panel of Gamemakers watching me from a towering balcony. My footsteps halt when I find myself staring directly up at the array of brightly colored people. My eyes lock with those of one of the women and I gulp, the sound audible in the empty silence.

"Vienna Noble?" A man with a thick Capitol accent questions and I nod in response. The man looks behind him casually and a smile grows on the lips of the woman he faces. When he turns back to me I can see the beginnings of laughter in his eyes and I scowl deeply. "You may begin."

I curtsey to them in mock thanks but they seem to accept it as being polite and respectful. I can hardly keep the discontent out of my storming steps as I walk towards the weaponry stations. I weave my way through the spear and arrow target ranges and reach the back of the room where the weaponry racks are set. I lace my fingers over the handles of several small knives before choosing one and slipping it into my belt; hidden from direct view. A second one is placed between my teeth and when I turn around to face the Gamemakers the looks of interest are evident. The smile reaches my lips even with a sharp blade tucked between my lips.

My steps begin to slow but one glance at the timer above the Gamemakers heads makes them speed up again as I walk towards the survival gear. I quickly choose a small black backpack from the pile and fill it with heavy stones from the fire-making station. I risk another glance at the Gamemaker panel and the confusion on their powdered faces is laughable as I stuff my bag full of the stones. Once it's been filled I hoist it onto my back; flinching slightly at the sheer weight of it.

For good effect, I grab a few water containers and clip them onto my belt; making sure to distribute the weight evenly along my waist. The first time I try and stand I nearly fall over but I catch myself in time before I go down. I try again, brushing off the first waver as if it never happened. This is my only shot at impressing these idiots.

I would be stupid if I didn't try and make an impression; play with the tension a little. After all, what's a good show without a great actress?

* * *

**Soren Lyte, 16, District Four**

"Um, Soren Lyte," I say numbly. I never once felt nervous stepping into this place for the last two days, but now that no one else is in here with me I can feel the tension rising within me. Now it's just me and a team of people put together to judge everything I do in these next few minutes. My breaths feel short and for a second I feel so nauseous I think I might throw up right here and now. My stomach calms, though, and I step away from beneath the balcony and survey the now abandoned training center.

My first instinct is to head over to the running track. I know that's what I am best at, but another thought stops my feet mid stride. The Gamemakers want to see skills that are useful in the arena. Running would be boring to them, anyone can run. They want me to show them something I can do that will make people want me to win. I have to give them that, even if it's not something I am very comfortable with.

My feet turn in the direction of the weaponry stations and I hesitantly take a knife by the black handle and hold it out an arm's length in front of me. I don't like weapons, but our Mentor said that the Gamemakers will be looking for tributes that are capable of protecting themselves. No matter if it goes against what every pore of my body is screaming, I have to do what will make them like me and what will make them give me a good score. The knife handle feels foreign in my sweating palm as I turn my body towards the target range. I had not previously trained over in this area so I can only hope this is what I am supposed to be showing them.

I take aim at the middle of one of the closer targets and release the knife with as much force as I can spare. I hear a clang as the blade hits the concrete and my stomach knots. I mentally try and push away the miss, prepping another knife from the rack and pushing it towards the same target. This one catches on the side of the target, but instead of sticking it too crashes to the ground below it. I make up my mind to try one more time, but just a single glance up at the Gamemakers tells me that they are getting bored. A lump forms in my throat, I'm supposed to be making them want to give me a good score. This isn't working. I have to try something else.

My eyes move absentmindedly towards the running track but I shake my head. They don't want to see me run in circles for that long, even if it is what I'm best at I should be doing the kinds of things that will make them like me.

I decide to try the archery range instead.

Big mistake.

Huge.

Within a couple minutes I have released over half a dozen arrows, none of them even making it remotely close to their chosen target. Never mind that, none of them even made it to the right side of the training center. As the buzzer goes off my heart sinks.

I should have just gone to the running track. I can only hope that ignoring my own wants and doing the kind of things that the Gamemakers want to see will help me just a little bit. All I can say is that after this, I feel even less confident in the notion that I could live. I can feel my life fading from me already, all I need is a spear to the heart to finish the job.

* * *

**Cole Grissom, 15, District Five**

As soon as I enter the room I can already tell this wasn't going to be fun. All of the weapons stations have been moved just that little bit closer to where I had to enter. A clear message from whoever had done it that these _things _were what they wanted to see us perform with.

I tiptoe quietly around the racks of sharpened metal and gawk up at the Gamemakers who stare down at me with superiority. I will myself to smile but it just won't come to my mouth. Not with the still glares being poured over me from at least a dozen sets of eyes. My lips remain locked in something between a frown and an expression that looks like a silent scream.

"Cole Grissom, District Five," I stutter just like Tiberius told me to say. Somehow it doesn't come out as carefree and cheeky as it did all those times I practiced in my bathroom mirror last night. It's not like I'm scared. Though...if I were who would blame me?

"You may begin."

I bow my head respectively and swivel around to face the mass of stations, most of which now look foreign to me despite nearly three days of manoeuvring through them. My eyes lock on the fire building station that doesn't look to far away. I step cautiously between the other stations, black handles and shining metal making my throat go dry, until I reach it after what feels like the walk of eternity. I look behind me one last time to make sure at least one of the Gamemakers are still watching me and sure enough most of them are. I kneel down beside a preset bundle and begin unwrapping the twine that surrounds it and putting the smaller pieces away from later.

All of the big chunks of wood are organized into a small tipi, with the longer pieces standing upright and the shorter ones sitting around them to steady them. I scoot over to the pile of smaller twigs and branches, pushing them between the larger pieces all the while racking my brain for the word that the trainer used to describe them. Kindling? Something like that.

I rise up and grab one of the fire starters off of the table along with a single match. My hands plunge the starter into the middle of my arrangement and I light the match on a large stone that is all that is left of my starting bundle. The match lights up with orange after just a few swipes and I carefully drop it on top of the fire starter, watching with wide eyes as the tiny flicker of fire becomes a raging fireball that begins engulfing the tipi within seconds.

I stand with a proud grin before my fire and turn around to face the Gamemaker's balcony. The smile waver from my face when I see the backs of each one of them, all having turned around to grab a red glass from the Avoxes that carry out trays. I frown deeply, looking back desperately at my fire and searching my mind for some sort of idea. I know I have to get their attention again, but how?

Suddenly something hits me and I race back to one of the other bundles that lay untouched by anyone else. I slide the biggest chunk of wood out of it along with a longer piece. Heaving both pieces under my arm I return to my own section, grabbing the twin and wrapping it around the two pieces so that the larger chunk sits at the tip of the long branch.

Without a second thought I plunge the end of the stick into my flames and hold it there for one, two, three seconds before pulling it out again. The result is remarkable, my own torch; alight with a flickering ball of movable light. I stand strongly beside my still burning fire, holding the torch high up over my head. It doesn't even occur to me that maybe the twine will fall away, or that maybe the flames will reach my hands. The only thing that registers is the widening eyes as a single Gamemaker looks back to see what I have created.

And that gives me hope that I might still have a chance at a higher score. At least someone has seen what I have done, and for the first time in a while I have not been completely ignored.

* * *

**Winter Darnish, 15, District Six**

I decide not to wait for Hudson after my session has finished. Instead I step over to where the elevators lie in wait, each with a Peacekeeper pinned in front of the doors. Without hesitation I walk towards the closest one and the white-clothed man in front of it cranes his neck to glance down at my district number which has been embroidered onto my left shoulder.

He moves to the side and ushers me through the doors. They close silently and the little room moves upwards. I watch with fascination as the digital numbers flicker past, finally stopping at the number six at which point the doors surge open to allow me out.

Waiting for me at the large dining table is Livillia, our mentor, and Valentine, our escort that for some reason also joins us in the Capitol despite her uselessness. Livillia glances over at me with a forced half smile that I return within seconds. Valentine flies up from her seat and envelops me in her arms. The first words that exit her mouth are, as expected, pertaining to how I believe my private session went. I smile at her and shrug. I think I did well but the Gamemakers were stoic in expression so I got no gage of how I had done from them. I hope they were impressed by what I showed them, but of course you never really know. I believe that a shrug is probably the most accurate answer I can give, that way I'll be covered from disappointment if I do badly.

Valentine brings me over to sit between herself and Livillia and I answer both of their questions as vaguely as I can. Nobody knows what I am actually thinking, not even these two. Throughout my short life I have always found it easiest to keep my thoughts private. It's much better to be safe and consider the people that I converse with to be different from me in way of thoughts. Most people I think are different from me. I don't think that if everyone was like me it would be as easy as it looks to control the lot of us.

"Hudson!" Valentine shrieks as the elevator doors open to reveal my little blonde-haired district partner. She gives him a similar welcome to the one she gave me, plus a sloppy kiss on the forehead. Valentine leads him over by the arm to where we all sit at the dining table and begins chattering away like always.

Suddenly I hear a thud as Livillia's glass hits the table and all of us go silent and turn to look at her. Her face is pale and her eyes are narrow, as if we had just told her we planned to kill her first born son or something.

"I heard the two of you have allies, against what I told you and what you both agreed to."

My cheeks feel warm and I take to looking down at my plate and by a simple glance across the table I can see that Hudson has done the same.

"Well, who are they?" She spits.

"I'm only with the boy from Eleven, Lorcan," I whisper and I can see her face begin to soften. It's true that she told us that having no allies would be best for the both of us. In a large alliance the youngest and the smallest are almost always the first to go. I understand her logic, but I need someone to cover for me. Plus, Lorcan is my age if I'm correct. Which means there will be none of that "the youngest goes first" crap.

"The girl from Eleven, the boy from Five, and the girl from Seven," Hudson mutters under his breath without returning his gaze to our mentor.

"Well I guess that's three more people for you to depend on. What happened, didn't think you could do it by yourself anymore?" She demands, her voice raising with each word.

"I can do it on my own," he tries to say strongly but I can hear the tremor in his voice. "I don't need anyone's help, they just asked me."

Without giving Livillia a chance to scold him further, he stands from the table and storms off down the hallway containing our bedrooms. I can hear the _swish _of a door opening and then he's gone. Leaving me with our mentor, our escort, and both of their prying questions.

* * *

**Rict Green, 18, District Seven**

Have you ever felt like you were suffocating despite being completely and utterly alone? That's how I feel right now; trapped, stuck, _suffocating_.

It feels as though I am surrounded by so many sets of cold, watchful eyes; all waiting for the mistakes I am bound to make. All ready to pounce on even the slightest error I may make. All prepared to destroy the life I have created for myself. Even here, in the careful silence of my private bedroom, I do not feel comfortable enough to drop my mask. They're still watching, or at least making me feel as though they are. Right at this very moment I could very well be live on every television screen in Panem. I mean, what could stop them?

I'm a puppet on thinning strings, though this is hardly something new for me, but I almost wish I could spend my final days someplace else. Somewhere I can truly relax instead of playing the part of the marionette.

Maybe it would help me survive if I set the real me free in the arena. Surely he is more capable than the perfect, happy man I have created. I know these thoughts are impossible though. Should I release myself from this thick shell I would never be able to return to the comfortable place behind the mask. Everyone back home would be able to see what I'd become. They would never accept me as being anyone else if I ever did find my way home. I would never be the same Rict to them; would I even be Rict to myself?

"Rict!" Cicely shrieks, no less ear-shattering just because a door separated us, and my hands fly to my ears to muffle the sound. "The scores are going to begin in less than a minute and I absolutely insist you join us in the living room to watch!"

"Coming," I say in the singsong voice I tend to use with our young escort and I step towards the door as I was asked. Maybe it might be in my best interest to let the mask fade in the arena, but for now I can't help it. I'm used to being the Rict everyone knows and adores, no matter if it makes me sick to do so.

I join Juniper, Battia, and Cicely in the living room a few seconds after I leave my room. Cicely pats the spot beside her on the loveseat and I smile gratefully towards her before taking the seat. Already on the wide screen Vindan Fauxtus with his wide violet eyes and peach colored hair is rushing through a round of clips and photographs from the Reapings and the Tribute Parade, giving commentary on each. I spot one of Juniper and I in our chariot, both with heartwarming smiles on our faces and hands raised into the air.

"Now, Panem, begins the presentation of the much anticipated training scores. After three days of careful observation followed by a private showcase with our Gamemakers, each of our twenty-four tributes have been awarded a score between one and twelve with twelve being the highest," Vindan smiles as the camera pans back to show a large screen behind him, outlining his words with pictures. "Let's begin, shall we?"

* * *

**Trystan Rayon, 17, District Eight**

The first body to appear behind is that of the petite blonde from One. Somehow the hologram has made even her seem like a well-built contender, I wonder how great I'm going to look then. Her face is blank as I recall and I can't help but wonder how the technicians make the images move as well as remain in one place. Were they filming us somehow while training? That must be it since she is wearing the uniform that most of us wore the first day but then never wore again. If it's true that they were getting footage of us, they better have gotten my good side. Wait, who am I kidding? Both sides are my good side.

"Our first tribute is Miss Cecilia Howlite from District One with a score of four," Vindan begins and I can't help but be disappointed. The girl's pretty fine, I would have thought looks alone would have gotten her a decent score. If I was her I would be extremely disappointed with a four, I'd bet half the three-year olds could get a four back in Eight. That just shows that some people can't have looks and skills. Thankfully I've been graced with enough of both to win me the Hunger Games a dozen times over.

"Following her, with an impressive score of eight, is Obsidian Nixon also of District One."

I realize the picture has already changed and instead of the teeny blonde girl I am now starring at a tall boy with mysterious eyes and a creped expression. Impressive indeed, though the boy himself does not look so. Then I remember, he was the one who won that training activity. There must be something about him that I should probably worry about but just going by the face that stares back at me from the side of the blinking eight I would have thought I was being paranoid.

The District Two female gets an even more impressive nine and I nearly start to laugh. She is tiny, weak, nothing more than a somewhat deranged nutcase whom I have not once seen have a conversation with any other tribute. If _she _can manage to pull out a nine than I am pretty confident in saying that I could do better. Her district partner comes out with a seven, not the best but not the worst. No threat to me of course, not that a simple number could determine the person who would ever be able to match me in anything.

District Three is unsurprising, both tributes about average in looks, age, and impression on me, getting scores that are about average I would say. The girl receiving a six and her wide-smiled partner getting a five. I immediately dismiss both of their images from my mind. There is no need for me to try and remember districts, names, or faces. Not when I could be thinking about more interesting topics, such as the dirt beneath my fingernails.

District Four is pathetic, the girl and the boy only earning a three and a five respectively. I snort when I see each of their scores, especially the girl's. I don't know what exactly these scores are supposed to dictate, but I can tell that a score that low will not in any way be helping her chances of survival.

"I'm surprised, usually One, Two, and Four do much better than this. The only ones that did relatively alright were the boy from One and the girl from Two!" Adonis laughs, hitting Maddox on the shoulder playfully and causing him to flinch back in pain.

"There are no more Careers, remember Adonis?" Maddox explains slowly and Adonis rolls his eyes.

"Pity, they always were my favourite ones to watch as a young child."

"What's a Career?" I interrupt and they look at me and then back at each other as if they had just said something they were not supposed to.

"Well, back in the first set of Games, some of the districts started training their tributes so that they could win. It was illegal of course but the Capitol couldn't punish them without proof," he laughs nervously. "They were always the most skilled and most attractive tributes every year, shoe-ins for Victor a lot of them were."

I consider this for a moment. The most skilled and the most attractive tributes, the ones that everyone always assumed would win. A _Career_. A smirk flashes across my face as the idea hits me, I'm a modern day Career. Ruler of the Hunger Games, and soon everyone else will realize it.

* * *

**Sheria Maurell, 18, District Nine**

"What do you think of the scores so far? Any real competition you think?" I whisper to Heath who sits a foot away on the edge of the couch, one leg kicking softly against the table in front of him as he stares at the television screen. After a second he turns and faces me, eyes searching me for something though I don't understand what, and then just like that he turns back. I guess he just wants to watch the rest of them before giving commentary. That's probably the smartest idea, it's not wise to miss anything that could give you information, and therefore the upper hand, on another tribute.

The District Five girl I almost don't recognize as someone from the group of twenty-four. I had hardly noticed her in Training or elsewhere. The image they have taken is blank, almost frightened and even somewhat eerie. Her eyes downcast and half closed. I don't know whether to be wary of her or intrigued by her. Maybe even both.

She receives the lowest score thus far, a two. Very unexpected considering she doesn't look near as hopeless as this score suggests. Her body is not thick but it does look kind of athletic. How could her score be this low?

Suddenly I fear for myself, if only a two is what this girl, so close in age and build to me, can only achieve a two then what hope do I have of doing any better? Very little.

Her district partner receives a five and the District Six girl surprises me when her score is announced to be a seven. Just when I think I might have my competition figured out something like this is thrown in. Would I not be better off to just assume that everyone is a threat than to point out only the ones that are outward about their skills? Philemon told me at the beginning of this whole thing that I should be able to know who the threats were, that I should be able to gage who I need to watch out for long before I even think about entering the arena. If at this point I cannot even tell a harmless girl from someone that could be a mini-murderer then what does that say about me? Am I simply too thick to stand a chance?

Another surprise comes with Six's district partner. The youngest tribute at only thirteen. He earns a six and I nearly feel like tearing my hair out. What else don't I know? I just can't trust my own knowledge anymore. I'm hopeless. I have no physical attributes to help me, no emotional strengths about me to guide me through possible insanity. And now I cannot even trust my own mind to pick up on the right information. Maybe it won't even be the other tributes that take me down, maybe it will be me. If I can't trust myself, then how am I supposed to be able to trust Heath, or my mentor, or my sponsors if I happen to have any?

The pair from Seven get high scores as well. The male, Rict, I am unsurprised at the eight he receives but the girl. The girl whose name I cannot even formulate in my mind, got a six? A six. I lean my head back against the couch in defeat. There is no use in trying anymore, how can I expect to live when my mind is already trying to kill me?

* * *

**Veralidaine Vantos, 18, District Ten**

Kor and I sit with our mentor and escort in an incredibly awkward and uncomfortable silence as we watch the far too long scores newscast. Not one of the three of them seems to want anything to do with me, not even Kor who is probably the friendliest person I have ever met in my entire life. Really though, if they were trying to send me the message that I'm unwanted they should try and be more direct with it. The fact that all three of them are squished into the far couch while I lounge alone on the loveseat is so subtle I nearly missed out on it.

I find it to be completely unnecessary and idiotic that we are sitting here watching a bunch of pictures and numbers flash by that nobody really cares about. Anine and Decia, though, seem to think it is a matter of utmost importance that we "study" the other tributes so that we can best know how to exploit their weaknesses and bring them down. I see nothing at all helpful in seeing these scores however. I mean, how accurate are they really at judging the competence or ability of a tribute? Hell, if someone had wanted to they could have easily sabotaged their own session to make people think that they're an easy kill while hiding a deadly talent. Now wouldn't that be Something to bring a humble look to Anine's face? The tribute with a score of one or two winning it all. I think I would sell my family just to see the look of horror on her face if that ever happened.

I must have been chuckling out loud because Anine shoots me a hard glare and shushes me. I roll my eyes but force myself to try and concentrate on the screen , despite the rude gestures I consider teaching Anine.

A dull looking girl is shown full scale behind Vindan and I shake my head sadly. I've always wished for red hair like hers, a color that stands out in a crowd with the impression of fire, but she does nothing to use it. It's a very sad day when someone with so much potential to be interesting makes themselves fade into the background.

She receives an average score of four to top it all off. Average, average and plain and bland as far as the eye can see. No one here seems like they have even the slightest interest in being different, instead putting so much effort into fading away. Well, no one except that Capitol girl with the pearl-white hair, but she just seems like a pampered brat. Nothing even remotely fun or interesting to be found for miles.

Her district partner, also painfully average looking, receives a nine and my lips curl up into a thin smile. Maybe not so bland after all. Maybe there is someone else that can stand out from the boring and bland group. A score that surprises, maybe there is hope for some of these tributes yet.

My score comes and goes, but neither my escort nor my mentor pays much attention. Kor looks at me with a stricken look and hands me a congratulatory smile. I grin to myself but don't really show much care. It's a number after all, nothing more. It's not like a high score guarantees immunity from death. Though some airheads seem to think so.

Kor's eyes widen in surprised pleasure when the announcer moves on to his score. A six, on the higher side of what tributes seem to be averaging today. Decia and Anine pat him on the back and share in a round of overjoyed congratulations. Kor looks at the score until it disappears from the screen, a goofy looking grin stuck on his face.

Decia jumps up and hugs him tightly, squealing out random parts that seem to form some sort of plan for how this score will bring him everything in the means of sponsors. Anine looks at me and smirks, the look in her eyes meaning to tell me something along the lines of, "see, when you play by our rules you get rewarded."

I laugh out loud and smile cruelly towards her, her face twisting into confusion in an instant. "I wouldn't be so smug, Anine. Don't forget, I got an eight."

* * *

**Lorcan Raff, 15, District Eleven**

Evangeline's face drops as they announce her score, a weighty four. I try and place a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, words flying around in my mind trying to form an appropriate comment, but she brushes me off as if the score meant nothing.

"No need to fee pity for me, Lorcan. A four is perfect if you ask me," she explains and I nod my head lamely along with her. "Who would think to expect someone with a score so average to be able to do anything? No one, that's who. I feel sorry for those tributes with anything any higher than a four. There's no way that they'll be able to slip below the radar like I will be able to. If they only would have thought about it a bit more I'm sure the arena would have been flooded with fours."

I smile in response and just let her keep talking, it seems to take the stiffness out of her back so I'm happy to let her. I catch my score just before it disappears and my lame smile widens. One point above Evangeline is all I needed, some sort of reassurance that I'm not doing everything as wrong as she likes to tell me I am.

"Oh a five, tough break Lorcan," she says sweetly while giving me a gentle pat on the back. I straighten and turn to look her in the eyes, my posture becoming defensive.

"What's wrong with a five?" I ask even though the expression she gives me tells me that I probably shouldn't have.

"Let's look at the other tributes that also got fives, shall we?" She begins and I look helplessly over to Orestes who by the look on his face wants me to say something to stop her from talking any more. I want to but I can't make myself. It seems to make her feel better to criticize me and who am I to take that away from her? "The males from Four, Five, and Eight. Five clearly has physical strength judging by his build and Eight seems to have far too much confidence to not be hiding some kind of special skill. Four as far as I remember has impressive endurance on both land and water as well as some capability with knives.

"They're threats, Lorcan," she whispers, leaning towards me until I can feel her breath on my nose. "And because of the simple fact that you got the same score as they did you will be considered a threat too. That means you'll be a target and targets die fast."

"I guess you're right," I hear myself mumble and I sink deeper and deeper into the cushions of the couch. Suddenly I'm not feeling so well.

"Pipe down you two," Dariella hisses. "Some of us are actually trying to watch."

I turn myself away from Evangeline and catch a glimpse of the Capitol boy's score before it vanishes. A seven. Going by Evangeline's logic that means he must be a bigger threat than me, right? That's got to be a good thing, maybe if the bigger threats stay around longer the others will concentrate on them and not go after someone like me with a five. I sure hope so, just the notion that I might be targeted is enough to make my stomach churn.

"What did the girl get?" I ask as the screen changes to show more updates from around the Capitol.

"Just a three," Orestes answers and my heart drops. Another non-threat. Maybe Evangeline is right, maybe that makes me a bigger threat f more tributes have scores under me. Maybe I could be a target. Even if it was only a five.

* * *

**Natalya Marrion, 17, Capitol **

I press the locking button that is pinned to the wall beside the door and smile. The door shakes as either Ambivia or Jerduse slams into it. My guess would definitely be Ambivia. I don't doubt for a second that the brutish excuse for a girl would be stupid enough to run into a closed door. Not for a second.

"Natalya, you get out here this second!" The familiar shriek of my mentor makes me grimace. I don't understand why they are so goddamn pushy. It's not as if their "parenting methods" are going to help me in the least. I don't even want these people near me for Panem's sake! Don't they see that? I just want to go home, and they'd better believe I'm going to do whatever I can to get there. I have always gotten what I wanted, why would the fact that I was reaped change that?

"Natalya!"

"Just come out, we're trying to help you, kid."

I roll my eyes even though I know they can't see me. They never will get me to do what they ask of me. Why should I even consider doing anything they tell me to do? All they have done so far is rip me away from my life, made me stay in a room full of filthy district people for hours each day, and yelled at me all the while.

Almost makes me excited that tomorrow will be my last day here.

I shake my head quickly. No, I am not going into an arena with these people. They can't make me. No one can. I have never had people that could make me do anything and that will not change anytime soon.

A low ringing comes from behind me and I look around for a good while before noticing the tiny device on my night table that lights up and shakes in tune with the ringing. I press my fingertip into the back of it and the ringing stops. I hold it closer to my face and all at once I remember what the thing is. A telephone! My parents used to have one of these before we switched to holographics, thanks to me of course. I couldn't stand not having the most up to date technology.

Now the question is who is calling me? Could it be my friend calling me to tell me what I've missed and who misses me? My parents to let me know that they're on their way to pick me up?

"Natalya?" Someone says and I don't recognize the voice. It's a boy, yes definitely. Kind of high pitched too, so someone young most likely. Then, all at once, something clicks in my mind and I blurt out the first name that comes to me.

"Riley?"

"Close," the voice laughs. "It's Remy, actually."

There's a long pause after that, only thing audible being the interchanging breaths. "So, what did you want then?"

"Um, nothing. I just found this thing on my night table. Thought I would try and figure out what it does."

"You've never seen a telephone before?" I laugh.

"Telephone? What a name," he chuckles in response, his voice full of awe.

"Have you tried calling, you know?" I stutter, my heartbeat increasing at the thought of possibly being able to talk to someone outside of this place.

"It doesn't work," he sighs sadly. "This was the only number programmed into the thing. Nothing else I pressed did much of anything."

"Oh," I say, unable to hide the disappointment from my voice.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing then, I guess."

With that the line goes silent and I'm left holding a cold piece of plastic to my ear. The banging on the door also has ceased and the result is something I have never been forced to become accustomed to. Loneliness.

I never thought a person could ever feel this alone.

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be**_** My Chemical Romance.**_

**Song: **_**Teenagers**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. Scores have been posted.**

* * *

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

**_What do you think about the scores for each tribute? _**

**_Have you started deciding on any favourites as of yet?_**

* * *

**So sorry this took as long as it did, too much going on right now and I apologise.**

**Note; if some of the scores seem a bit high to you please remember that this is the first Hunger Games in thirty years, with unseasoned Gamemakers. They would likely just give good scores to anyone that could do something somewhat useful. Also the look and build of a tribute will have some relevance!**

**Other than that, I hope you guys are enjoying this still!**


	7. Pressure

**Under Pressure by My Chemical Romance**

_Pushing down on me, _

_Pressing down on you no man ask for_

_Under pressure._

* * *

**Obsidian Nixon, 17, District One**

If I were someone else, I might be scared that I was about to be sent up on a stage in front of my entire nation. I might be shaking with nerves just at the thought of having everyone back in District One watch me in what might be my last moment in Panem alive. I might be considering each of the nonexistent pathways to get out of this place.

If I was anyone else I might be doing any number of these things, perhaps even all of them, but I'm someone else. I am myself. And being myself means that I do not feel any sort of fear of being in front of a crowd. The closest way by which I am feeling any of these things is by watching Cecilia nibble at her nails as she stand just slightly ahead of me. I can tell she is nervous, but I do not feel the sickening feeling for myself. Instead I kind of feed it off of her so that I can sense some of what she is feeling. It's almost like I can actually get into her mind and see what she's seeing; that sounds so much more complicated than it would be if her emotions weren't strewn across her made-up face.

I don't even realise I am playing with it when a pale hand snatches my fingers away from the little speaker they have placed in my ear. I don't really know what the point of it is, but if I had to guess I would say that whoever was on the other end of this thing was fully prepared to coach us through the interviews. If there's one thing Liviticus made sure to emphasize to us before we left a few hours ago, it was to be careful what we say.

I really don't see how it matters. If we're going to be dead in, possibly, less than twenty-four hours than shouldn't I be allowed to say whatever the hell I want? Apparently not. Though I'm sure whoever is controlling this thing is smart enough to understand that they can demand and order us all they want, but ultimately it is up to us whether or not we listen. Of course, I'm smart enough to understand that there will probably be consequences if we don't obey whatever sounds come through this speaker.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Your female tribute from District One, Cecilia Howlite!" Vindan Fauxtus announces, his voice filled with excitement as if this moment was the highlight of his life. And who knows it might be.

I hear Cecilia gasp slightly as a red haired woman pulls Cecilia up the two steps and out of my view. I search amidst the darkness, but she is nowhere to be found. Suddenly I feel nervous, but again it's not for myself. I know this is how Cecilia must be feeling. She's terrified.

That is almost discounted when I see her enter into the view of the screen above me. Her fair-colored face is indifferent and she walks with as much grace as I think is probably possible in the short gown and tall shoes. But even while seeing this I feel the nerves, I feel the fear. It's just a facade; she is only pretending to be alright. I smile, trying to move some of my own energy towards her. I want to keep her safe and secure, but she would be making that job a whole lot easier if she could get us some sponsors.

It will be easier to keep her with me and protected if food isn't trying to send her away from me and towards that blunt from District Two.

* * *

**Invidius Regium, 18, District Two**

I barely register that my name has been called as a rough hand pushes me up the steps and towards the curtains that indicate centre stage. The shoes that have been chosen for me throw off my balance and I fling my hands out wildly to catch a panel in order to keep myself upright. I stop for just a second to let out the breath I'd been holding before a whisper coming from the tiny ear speaker I wear urges me to keep moving.

"Oh there she is, folks!" Vindan laughs and motions a hand towards me. I think he might be trying to help me over to the chair but instead of taking it I just stumble along as before. I hear the crowd begin to chuckle behind me and I can feel my cheeks heating up. By the time I sit down Vindan has already reclaimed his seat beside me and smiles coyly at me. "Trouble finding your way, Invidius?"

"No," I say bluntly and subconsciously begin scanning the crowd in front of me. It takes me a few moments before I fully understand what I'm looking for, even though it's the very thing I have searched for since I got on that train. I seem to see him everywhere, but not for quite long enough. He always disappears. Why do they let me have my Rambin? Are they teasing me on purpose with short sightings?

Joke's on them, though. I'm going to find him soon enough. They can't keep us alone, not forever. I haven't been without him for as long as my memory stretches. Everything good that I can recall includes him, but everything bad includes my father. I'd rather have Rambin with me here, not my father. He's not even a real father, not really. If he was a real father he would love me. Maybe he loved me at some point, but not that my memory can recall.

All the things I can remember that include him are horrifying.

A pair of fingers snap in front of my face and I flinch and turn my head to find the hand's owner. Oh it's just that peach-haired man, I thought maybe it was Rambin. That maybe he had escaped from whoever was holding him hostage away from me. "Darling?"

"Yes?" I respond quickly.

"You never answered my question," he says with withheld laughter. "Would you like to share any hints about how you accomplished such a high training score. A nine, no less."

I shake my head. I only did what my mentor told me I would need to do to get sponsors. That's the way to get home, or so I was told. It wouldn't be the first time I'd been lied to. Nevertheless, if it was the fastest way home then I will do as told. The sooner I get home likely means the sooner I will be reunited with Rambin. The people holding him from me are no doubt only doing this while I am in the Capitol.

They can't keep us apart back in District Two. No one ever could except my father.

* * *

**Zander Flyx, 16, District Three**

I smile heartily as I exit the stage with wary applause erupting behind me. Amazing what you can tell people and get away with when no one here knows who you really are. Leandros told me to get sponsors, no matter what, and what better way to do so then by pulling on the old heart strings. Vienna waits for me by the elevator, her eyes wide and fierce and her hands crossed in front of her chest. Not at all amused looking, not a smile in sight. All I told them was a bunch of sob stuff about my life back home and everyone I would be leaving behind should I die in the arena.

Oh and I may have "confessed" my love for my district partner in front of the whole of Panem. Yeah, that may have slipped out as well.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Vienna hisses as soon as I am close enough to hear her. "You told them that we're in love!"

"Actually," I correct her, placing my hands out in front of me in a sign of surrender. "I told them I loved you and the feeling wasn't mutual. I didn't do you any harm, Vi."

"Are you joking right now?" Her words increase in volume and she grabs me by the fabric of my collar and pulls me closer to her. I can almost feel the heat coming off of her, she must be pretty freaking pissed off. "You managed to make yourself look like the hopeless romantic victim and make everyone in Panem hate me for 'rejecting' you within a five minute interview. No harm, eh?"

"Hey, I made us both something to notice," I retort. "You should be thanking me right now."

"_Thanking _you?" She spits, releasing her grip on my collar so quickly that I stumble backwards a couple of steps before regaining my balance. "Thanking you is probably the last thing I'm thinking of doing right now. I'm leaning more towards kicking you right now."

"Vi," I say with a softer tone now. "Before this we were forgettable. Now we're all anyone's going to be talking about. This will help I promise."

"Help who, you? Because this sure doesn't seem like it's going to benefit me a whole lot, Zander," she say, snatching back from me and stepping inside the elevator. I start to get in with her but a hand shoots out and stops me. "Not now, don't talk to me."

"Not now, or not ever?"

"Not ever, because of you I have no chance at getting sponsors. Thanks to your little publicity stunt I'm going to be the most hated tribute in the history of the Hunger Games because you told them I don't love you back," she sneers but I can see liquid rimming the bottom of her eyelids, threatening to spill over at any moment. Not wanting to see any tears I step back and allow the doors to begin to slide closed between us.

"You wouldn't have let me do it if you'd known or else I would have told you."

"Just leave me alone, please?"

And with that the door seals us apart and for the first time in a long while I feel something deep in my gut. It tells me I was wrong, something I very rarely am. Something I don't want to be, especially not about this. I didn't want to hurt her chances. I just wanted to help my own.

Now I fear that I have wrongfully done both, and especially in a place like this the most frightening thing to be is wrong.

* * *

**Seanna Fyera, 14, District Four**

My fingers twitch nervously in my lap as I wait for the applause to die down. Vindan smiles openly with too-white teeth showing and I try to force a smile but I can tell that it must look ridiculous. Emotions are not something I can even attempt to control. It's either my feelings will be readable on my face or my expression will remain blank. I envy the people who can make you think that everything is perfect in their life even when they feel empty or broken inside. That skill would definitely serve them well in this place where everyone's eyes are so full of judgement.

"Seanna, what a beautiful name. Appropriate too for District Four, am I right folks?"

I curl my lips up in what I hope looks like a humble smile and Vindan, like always takes the opportunity to grin out at the audience. I wipe off my palms on the satiny fabric of my green dress and I think the embarrassment plays on my face when I notice the moist mark my hands left. Why do I have to be so nervous? It's not like I'll likely ever have to face these people again. Odds are I'll be dead in a few days anyway.

"Have you seen the footage released from the past Hunger Games?" Vindan directs the question not just at me but also at the rest of the people in the auditorium. I shake my head as a response and the expression of mock horror that crosses his face is nearly enough to bring a real smile to my lips. I shrug my shoulders, trying to play along with his little act and it works. "You should! The District Four tributes were always my favourites as a child. Almost as intense as the Ones and Twos but with that extra drama that everyone always loved to see. I was so disappointed when there were no volunteers from Four this year."

My face falls as he says this. So District Four used to be contenders? As bloodthirsty as Volusia has told me that One and Two trained their tributes to be. Is that how the rest of Panem feels about Soren and I as well? Disappointment that we are not the players our district used to produce?

"Anyway," Vindan laughs, seemingly back to his jolly self. "Tell me, what is your strategy going into this year's Hunger Games?"

I rack through my brain for what Volusia instructed me to say. I know we went over this question at some point but I just can't seem to fabricate an answer.

_Disappointment._

I try and shake the thought out of my head but it won't leave. I'm a disappointment, nothing but a shadow of what District Four stood for before the Second Rebellion. I've been lying to myself all this time. I never had a chance. I'm nothing like what this man tells me a Victor is made of. Can I even make it past the first day? Do I even want to if I know I'll just die later?

"Seanna?" Vindan lowers his voice and places an ice cold hand on my bare leg causing me to flinch back and turn myself away from him. Before I can stop myself the tears have already come and are leaving a black trail of makeup down my cheeks. I cover my face with my hands to hide the flowing tears but the man beside me only tries to remove them. "Darling, are you alright?"

How can someone ask a question like that, full well knowing the answer? No one can be alright when they know the date of their death and that said date is tomorrow.

_And if I could live further than that? _

I would only be delaying the inevitable.

* * *

**Grace Willow, 17, District Five**

As soon as I step out of the elevator on the floor reserved for my district I am whisked away by Tiberius who forcefully sits me down beside him to watch the rest of the interviews that were being broadcasted live throughout the districts and Capitol. My eyes search frantically for the sanctuary of my private bedroom but the constant grip on my wrist forces me to stay with him. Why does he want to make me watch the other tributes. I don't know them, I have no allies, but I also have no false securities. I know that everyone has the potential to be a threat. I know this because he has drilled it into my head night after night.

He says I must learn and I have learned. Now why will he not let me prepare in solitude. Am I not allowed to have my last night in civilization to spend as I choose?

With each passing face and with every spoken word just one simple word crosses my mind over and over again. Fake. Fake. Fake. None of these tributes are the ones I have seen in training. They are all merely acting, but who am I to criticize? Did I not just finish doing the same on that very stage? Did I not try to convince everyone in this nation that I was someone that could be a wild card. That the low score I had been given might just be part of a bigger plan. It was Tiberius' idea, of course, but I played along because I was given no choice. I had no desire to get up on that stage in the first place and I knew that I certainly could not do so as myself.

So my mentor embellished me. He gave me an angle. I was mysterious, I was sly, I was interesting. Or so people now thought.

The District Six girl was coy. Her district partner was confident. Both of them are so young that I would not feel inclined to believe that either of them truly was like this. They were embellished, just as I had been. Something was taken out of them and used to create a character that the Gamemakers could write for.

That's something that Tiberius has reminded me over and over again. That I must become someone that can be used, because ultimately the Hunger Games is just one deadly story. If you fit into their plot you continue to act, but if you don't you get cut. It can happen just like that.

District Seven girl is intelligent with her clever insights into each of the tributes that she mentions. Not me thankfully, that would ruin my image. I'm supposed to be forgettable and unknown, and within that I become interesting for the playwrights.

District Eight are both upbeat, the male cocky and flirtatious and the girl peppy and playful. Fake, both of them. Their smiles are too wide, their laughs too long, and their expressions too forced. The District Ten girl is cruel and insulting. She toys with Vindan and the audience, luring them into petty jokes at their expense. I can't see much of a role for her for too long. Keeping her would only mean trouble for the Gamemakers. I might not be sure of what the President wants for his Victor, but I know that it will not include a future rebel. That would be bad plot-use.

No one knows what the President wants, all we can hope is that we fit into that group. If not, well, let's just say we won't be hoping for very much longer if we don't.

* * *

**Hudson Rienhart, 13, District Six**

Someone shakes my shoulder until I awaken with a low groan. No light hits my eyes but they open to a room caked still in darkness. I squint my eyes in the covering until a familiar set of eyes grabs my attention. Livillia. She kneels down beside me and smiles though I can tell even in the murky light that her eyes are filled with tears that have yet to be shed.

"It's time to wake up, Hudson," she whispers and her voice cracks on my name. "I laid out an outfit for you, there's no point in dressing up. You will be given your full attire when you arrive at the Launch."

My throat feels constricted and I nod almost imperceptivity. I wasn't dreaming, this really is happening. Today I will be launched into the first Hunger Games in thirty years, and I may not be coming out. Livillia pulls me up into a sitting position with ease and she slips my wrinkled undershirt over my head and replaces it with a plain black t-shirt. I nearly stop her to tell her that I can do it myself but the words don't escape my mouth. I lift my legs from the side of my bed to allow her to do the same, replacing my white shorts with a pair of cotton, black pants.

"It's just past four, if you're wondering," she mumbles as her hands gingerly guide a the other sock onto my foot. She helps me stand and leads me towards the door where I half-consciously slip on the shoes that sit beside it before following her out into the hallway. I stare back at the still-dark living room and Livillia must read my mind because she answers my unspoken question. "Breakfast will be given to you once you arrive at the Launch."

I nod and continue to let her guide me by the hand towards the elevator. I want to ask where Winter is and if she will be coming as well but my mouth is too dry and my words get lost in the air between my mentor and I. We step into the elevator and she presses a sharp nail into a button labelled with the letters "HP". I don't ask what they stand for, as I may have earlier in the week. Instead I just stand next to her in silence, my hand held limply in hers as I stare at the closed doors.

The doors open what feels like only a few milliseconds later and Livillia begins to exit through the open panel. My hand stops her because I haven't moved yet and she looks back to me, her face softening as soon as her eyes land on me.

"Livillia?" I croak and she crouches down to my level, squeezing the hand that clutches mine even tighter.

"I know, you can do this alone right?" She breathes and I shake my head quickly.

"I'm scared, I don't think I do it by myself," I whisper and my words quickly turn to sobs as I wrap my arms around her, holding her like a child not wanting its mother to leave it for work. I bury my face in the soft fabric of her shirt and the tears finally come. I can't do it, not alone.

All my life I have been taught to be independent, that I did not need the help of anyone but myself. But my father was wrong when he said that. I am only a child and sometimes, even though he says I shouldn't, I need a shoulder to cry on too.

* * *

**Juniper Haywood, 17, District Seven**

The harsh grasp of a Peacekeeper leads me away from my escort and towards the edge of the roof where two humongous hovercrafts have been parked. My entire body shakes with nerves, enough that the Peacekeeper guiding me looks back at me with a look of warning.

As we approach the vehicle on the far left I see another tribute being led into the mouth of it. The opening is so large, with points sticking out from the ceiling of it so that it looks like a mouth full of pointed teeth. My throat feels as though it has shrunken to be the diameter of a straw and the breaths that I manage to give are forced and trembling, an effort for my entire body. The little girl from District Six disappears between the menacing teeth and the pace of the Peacekeeper only increases, causing him to quite literally drag me behind him.

Up close the machine looks even more frightening. The entire thing is made completely of metal, with tiny rubber landing tires holding the entire thing up. The man releases his grip on my arm and I stare up the ramp that leads directly into the vehicle; my hesitation is quickly remedied by a well placed push on the small of my back. I stumble up the first couple of feet before I regain my balance and stride nervously up the rest of the way. The Peacekeeper stares back at me cruelly when I dare to look behind me for just one last glimpse of my escort. I don't see her though, the young woman I have somehow grown attached to and yet hold so much disdain towards. She is almost my last thread of comfort, though, after her I have only too look forward to seeing my stylist for my final moments in civilization.

_At least for now_, I remind myself in a pathetic attempt at reminding myself that it is not set in stone that I will never see this place again. I can't lose hope yet, not yet. If I do then what else do I have to hold onto in the days to come?

Another Peacekeeper immediately grabs hold of me as soon as I enter through the mouth of the hovercraft; guiding me to a seat near the middle with the girl from One to my right and an empty space to my left followed by the Capitol girl. The second I sit down in the seat, straps fly out of the arm rests and the back of the chair as well as the board behind my feet to secure my arms, waist, and legs. I struggles for a second but stop as soon as I realize that they are not hurting me.

When I look up I see the girl from Five sitting directly across from me with wide eyes staring at something above me. Her lips move but I hear nothing over the sound of a fan from above us. I try and turn around to look behind me but the straps prevent such a movement. I try and catch the strange girl's eyes. Trying to tell her something but I don't know what.

Maybe something like, _don't worry, I'm just as scared as you are._

* * *

**Santanna Cromms, 17, District Eight**

As soon as the male from One is seated in his chair the ramp leading to outside is retracted and the lights dim, making it seem as though we never truly left the dark, early morning atmosphere. Nobody says a word and only the snatches of faces lit by glowing safety lights and the sound of forced breathing reminds me that I am not alone in this thing.

I hear the faint sound of whimpering and when I at the tributes across the aisle from me I can see the shining tears running down the cheeks of the boy from Six. Nobody else seems to be as openly frightened as he is, though even so you could probably cut the tension in this tiny space with a knife. Beside the crying boy is the girl from Nine, the one with the fiery hair I remind myself. Even though you can't see it through the mucky light. She leans over as far as the restraints put on all of us will allow her and I hear her mumble something to him. He turns his head to her and she smiles lamely. He says something that I read as "thank you".

The ride to the arena is painstakingly long. I don't remember Maddox mentioning it being like this, though he might not know. He's fairly young if I can judge his age properly. If he was even born during the last reign of the Hunger Games in all likelihood he was merely a young child if not a newborn. I wish this thing would just stop already, I hate facing these other teens. You know, the ones that might be dead by tonight. Possibly even by my own hand.

I don't know if I am capable of something as heinous as murder, but who can really say what they would do if their very life were on the line. I won't say that I will stay pure and good. If I did that it would be about as helpful as giving up right now and waiting for the knife to pull across my throat. I won't lie down and die. What reason do I have to? What could I possibly lose by trying that I wouldn't already lose by giving up?

Light begins to stream through the thin windows on the sides of the walls of the hovercraft. Still no one has said anything to one another beside the exchange between the Nine girl and the Six boy at the beginning of the journey. My eyes feel heavy and, not for the first time, I wish that I had been able to get more sleep that last night when I had a bed to sleep in. Just as my head begins to lull to one side, three people dressed in blue suits slip in through a silent door and scare the living daylights out of anyone who didn't have a clear view of the doorway.

Each of them carries a long syringe and my heart skips a beat. Maddox told me about these, what were they called? Trackers! He said that they injected them with long syringes that were meant to be painless. I rest back in my seat when I remember that part. Painless.

The woman approaches me with a blank expression and I hold out the inside of my arm, flinching away despite the words of comfort from my escort. As soon as the needle penetrates my skin I curse loudly and the rest of the tributes turn to look at me.

Painful, I finally think as I recall the conversation with Maddox many nights ago. He said painful, not painless.

* * *

**Heath Carlisle, 17, District Nine**

I hiss in pain as the needle is pressed into my flesh and watch with a mixture of horror and curiosity as a faint blue light pulses from beneath my skin. I try to move my arm to poke at it but the straps stop me. Stupid restraints. What do they think we're going to do Panem knows how far up into the sky and without any sort of weapon to use against them? If they're scared of what we can do to them now then why do they think they will be safe once one of us leaves the hell we're about to be put through? I don't know about the rest of these guys but if I'm the one to get out, the second I get the chance I'll be at their throats.

They're so quick to want us dead, it's only normal that we should feel the same, right?

Suddenly a click is heard and we are plunged once more into silent darkness. The window must be covered, I realize. Maybe that means we're getting close? I sure as heck hope so. Sitting in this same position for some long is making my entire body feel numb. I feel like my head is about to explode as we begin to land. If I didn't know better I would say we were about to crash right into the middle of wherever we're headed for. Not exactly the smooth landing that one would expect from the _perfect _Capitol.

All at once all the noise halts and the small space is left in empty silence. The lights are turned on faintly and then all at once, making my hands try and fly up to shield my face. Instead I am met with a grunt of pain as the restraints cut into my arms. I curse under my breath and blink rapidly to adjust my eyes to the new light. I hear a hum of surprise as the girl from Six is released from her restraints and seized seconds later by Peacekeepers from either side. She is led quickly from the hovercraft and the next set of restraints are released on the seat beside her empty one. The boy from Eight rises and stretches comically before he too is apprehended and led away.

I feel a huge sense of relief as my own straps are taken off and I don't even bother to stand before the same team of Peacekeepers pulls me from my chair and harshly drags me down the ramp. Thankfully the hallway I find myself in is no brighter than the hovercraft and I am able to adjust my eyes to look around fairly quickly.

"Here's your stop, kid," one of the men grunts and a door is flung open into which I am dumped like a sac of trash. Before I can even so much as stand up again I hear the door slam behind me and a lock click into place. No easy escapes, not that I truly expected one if I'm being honest.

"Heath!" A familiar, shrill voice echoes in the vast room and I shudder at the noise. A fragile, yet oddly strong hand helps me to my feet and I am enveloped by the thin arms of a woman near half my height. "Don't worry, honey, you can cry if you want to. I'm here for you. They told us that the tributes were fragile this year. Just know that you can talk to me!"

"Should I hug you back?" I ask after a moment of being wrapped in her arms and her tiny body shakes with a combination of sobs and laughter.

"Yes, darling, that is usually how it works," she tells me and I wrap my arms awkwardly around her tiny frame. She buries her face in my plain t-shirt and I pat her back softly, all the while wondering how long this is supposed to last before it gets too weird.

* * *

**Kor Epson, 18, District Ten**

The room I am in is a lot larger than I thought it would be. Anine described it as a place meant solely for the tribute to get ready and have his/her last meal before entering the arena. In actuality there is enough room in this place to house most families back ion District Ten. A tall changing panel sits in the farthest corner of the room with a hanger and a box set onto the table beside it. I know that it must hold my uniform for the arena. I remember Anine mentioning that the uniforms were specially made for each arena and fitted to the individual measurements of each tribute. I haven't looked at it yet, and that is just fine with me. I'm really not that eager. As soon as I know what I'll have to wear I will have an idea of the arena, or at least what to expect. I hope to delay these thoughts as long as I possibly can.

I think back to the only other day I have ever felt dread as strong as this. It was just months ago when President Paylor was proclaimed dead and her successor, President Cyrus, read that the Hunger Games were to be continued. District Ten went up in flames that day. The entire district was outraged, afraid, and above all betrayed. The older citizens remembered the days of the Hunger Games from their youth, they had no intention of allowing it to happen again to their children, to their grandchildren, to their neighbors, their friends, or their students.

But they had no way to get to the Capitol. To spread their anger to the people who had caused it directly, and so they settled for the next best bet they had to get the President's attention. They burned the Justice Building, the home of the Mayor and his family. The place I had called home for all eighteen years of my life.

But it was not that day that caused me so much dread. That day I felt so many emotions; anger, guilt, sadness, betrayal, helplessness. Though, none of them were dread such as I feel right now. No, it was the day after the flames had been put out that caused me to feel this way.

The day I had to search for the ashes of my mother and my older brother, both of whom I had not seen leave the house with my father and I. Entering that house on the day after my district's hatred nearly wiped out my family. That is the only memory that I can equate to the feeling I now face.

Only this time I do not have to face the horror of what state I might see my family in. Instead I will bear witness to the single most sickening event ever created by mankind. I don't know what makes me more appalled; the fact that I might die, or the fact that at this point I would do _anything _to win.

* * *

**Evangeline Dyre, 16, District Eleven**

"It's weather resistant, definitely," Cilia says as she rubs the thick vinyl between her fingertips. "Thick too."

"So that means it will be rainy," I conclude for her.

"No, I don't think rain," she says thoughtfully, eyeing the thickly woven jumpsuit that also came on the hanger. "But these boots definitely mean a tough terrain. The grips are amazing."

"Tough terrain, some kind of harsh weather," I repeat. "Got it."

Cilia breathes out loudly and hands me the hanger with the re-placed uniform on it and I slink behind the makeshift barrier to change into it. I hadn't had time to change that morning and so I was still wearing the black cotton pants and white t-shirt that I had slept in. It didn't seem to bother anyone though, nothing I did seemed to bother them today. For some reason.

I ease my pants off and slip one leg at a time into the fuzzy, black under suit. Once they are on I fasten the clip to hold them up and slide my top off, pulling my arms through the tight sleeves. I feel like I'm trapped in some sort of fur suit. I spiral my arms around and sure enough it's pretty hard to move in the thing. After a few other movements I determine that as long as I don't bring my knees up too high or try to pull my arms up higher than my head I should be alright as far as movement goes.

The second part of the suit is a thin vinyl covering that Cilia told me is meant to preserve heat. It's a tight fit to get it over the furry first layer and when I do I feel a wave of heat come over me and have to undo the zipper on one of the shoulder to stop myself from feeling faint. I walk from behind the panel and a full length mirror opens up in front of me.

You can hardly tell that I am wearing anything underneath the tight top cover, it merely looks like I am wearing a plain, light-grey jumpsuit with a hood rimmed with fluffy, white fur. Cilia smiles as she raises the hood onto my head and I frown deeply as the heat begins to overwhelm me.

"I don't think the idea is that I overheat and die."

"Of course not, dear," she sighs and removes the hood from atop my head. Pulling the boots out of a large box and easing me down into a chair so that she can help me into them. It's been like this all day, I am used to people arguing with me. To people trying to prove me wrong or something. But today they just agree, no matter what I say. No matter if I'm right or wrong.

Then I remember. It's because they expect me to die today. That's what I heard Orestes telling Lorcan about last night. That I likely wouldn't last the day and most certainly not the night. He told Lorcan to be silent and let me go on, because he wouldn't have to wait very long to be rid of me.

I feel a tear slip down my cheek and for the first time in a long while I am silent. There is nothing left to say as Cilia ties up the long laces of my boots. Orestes was still alive when they had the Hunger Games thirty odd years ago. He would know all about it or at least better than I would.

If he wants me to be silent then I will. I never had realized that what I said bothered other people. If they'd wanted me to stop why didn't they just ask me too?

* * *

**Remington Flores, 15, Capitol **

"Here," Zephore mumbles as he hands me a thick pair of dark grey gloves that I quickly shove into the front pocket of my uniform. He told me it was an odd outfit that had been chosen this year, that and to expect some very chilly nights. Zephore is very reserved, kind of a stereotype breaker like I happen to be. Both of us from a land of exquisite tastes, scents, and colors, and neither of us extravagant in the least.

"Twenty seconds," the mechanical voice reminds me and I look back to Zephore one last time before I step lightly into the tube. It's not very big, rather long and narrow with just enough room for me to stretch out one arm and still touch the other side of it. I hear the echo as my other foot lands beside the first and then a suction-type sound as the other side of the plastic tube cuts me off from the rest of the room.

A moment of panic overtakes me when the ringing of my ears and the raspy sounds of my breath become the only things I can hear. My bare hands raise to the plastic, my breath leaving a foggy print on the inside of the tube. I don't hear the final warning as, ever so slowly, the plate beneath my feet begins to rise and I frantically look towards Zephore for any kind of reassurance or final nod of confidence. When my eyes lock with him, however, all I see is bleakness. Then, just as my tube is about to descend into the dark tunnel, I see him raise the back of his hand to his forehead and close his eyes.

I recognize the ritual immediately as one that I have seen many times at funerals and memorials. It is the final sign of goodbye. The symbol of letting go. Is Zephore is trying to cleanse me from his mind, disown me as being his tribute because he thinks I have no chance? I'll never know, because just seconds later I find myself going not up, not down, but diagonally. To be specific, away from the Launch room and towards the floor, but not fully in either direction. As if my tube cannot commit to one particular way of taking me.

A shiver runs down my spine and I feel my teeth begin to chatter. Remembering the gloves in my pocket I pull them out and blindly slip them over my hands. The material is warm and, after pulling the fur hood over my head, my teeth cease chattering and only a tiny chill remains in my body.

I am in darkness for a long time, unable to see in what direction I was going. Unknowing whether or not I was still going diagonally or if I was simply going down now. My knees feel weak as the waiting gets to me, the dread of not knowing where I was or where I would end up. The knowledge that in a few minutes the Games would begin and many of us would die, possibly even myself.

Scratch that, very likely myself.

My entire body goes into a moment of shock as I am enveloped in a bright light and for a moment I feel blinded. The chill returns and another shiver runs down my spine. I close my eyes to block out the light and when I open them again I am amazed with the image before me. A canvas of blue and white. All of it immediately cleared from my mind as soon as my eyes lock on a digital clock hovering over us. The numbers stuck at sixty as the rest of the tributes rise up around me.

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be**_** My Chemical Romance.**_

**Song: **_**Under Pressure**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile.**

* * *

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**Bloodbath is next! Who do you THINK will die and who do you WANT to die?**_

_**What do you think the arena will be based on the hints from the outfit described in Evangeline's POV and Remy's description?**_

* * *

**I have put up a poll on my profile for you all to vote on your favourites.**

**Now I know you guys may be all excited for the Bloodbath next chapter, believe me I am too, but I also know that after that chapter goes up a lot of you aren't going to keep on reading this so I want to say this now. I have become attached to so many of these tributes and they are, for the most part, all unique and enticing. I don't kill them because I hate them (usually), I kill them when their time in the story is done. Thank you all for your characters and I hope there will be no hard feelings when/if they die!**

**PS: You guys all have Acereader55 to thank for this chapter being (sort of) on time. He motivated me to write a whopping 11 POVs in ONE NIGHT. This isn't going to happen again, because well...my fingers hurt now so yeah. Enjoy and vote on the poll!**


	8. Write On Your Grave

**Save Yourself I'll Hold Them Back by My Chemical Romance**

_I'll tell you all how the story ends  
Where the good guys die and the bad guys win  
This ain't about all the friends you made  
But the graffiti they write on your grave_

* * *

**Grace Willow, 17, District Five**

I stumble forwards a step as the plate beneath my feet locks into place with a jolt. The coldness I felt going down the tube has levitated a bit; the chilling wind that had shocked me before now having all but vanished. Yet I still shiver, the air now dry and frigid. I take a breath and as I open my eyes for the first time since the blinding white light forced them shut, the frozen arena opens up before me; clouded for only a moment in my expelled breath.

Everything is white, covered in a light dusting of untouched snow. Light reflects off the perfect snow and reveals giant crystal spikes hanging from the tops of pathways that lead off from the room we encircle. Only one of the paths does not disappear behind a veil of white walls. It winds around and behind us, creating a sole bare path leading to the sky. I crane my neck to look directly above us, the winding pathway remaining completely exposed as it continues on and on. Past the point where I can no longer see paths but only white is a tiny circle of light. The sun. The sky. That must be where we are supposed to head; up.

A weak whimper comes from behind me and I am abruptly alerted to the fact that I am surrounded by the other tributes. My throat suddenly begins to close in on itself, collapsing my airway until I'm sure that I'll simply suffocate. My eyes bulge out of my head as I search for a way out, a dark corner, somewhere I cannot be seen and stared at like waiting meat. I gulp down a single, forced breath and nearly choke on the dry air. I search around me but the only thing I am able to focus on is the opening that sits almost directly behind me, albeit at least twenty feet away.

I have to get there, I have to get away from these ice cold stares. But the little digital clock that suspends over the snow-dusted Cornucopia is still tick-tocking. There's still so much time left and I can't run yet. If I go now the mines will activate and I'll be blown to pieces. I don't want to die, I want to get away. I _need _to get away from these icy stares.

I have no plan, only the will to get as far away from this place as possible. I should have listened to my mentor. I should have tried to pay better attention to when they spoke to me. I tried to learn, I really did, but I should have tried harder. Maybe then I wouldn't be so lost right now, torn between waiting for the starting signal to run to the nearest getaway and just jumping right now and hoping they blow me sky high.

I force my eyes to scan the tributes around me, suddenly remembering something that I had been told last night before bed. Observe. That's what I'm best at is watching. No one can understand me but that doesn't mean I don't understand them. That is the only part of my strategy that I can be sure of is to watch. That will only do me any good if I get out of here as soon as the gong goes off, though. No good will come from me watching the other tributes tear each other apart, possibly even myself if I don't get away fast enough.

Most of the tributes around me are stoic, but out of the corner of my eye I catch the younger girl from Six thumbing a light blue bow between two fingers. I think back to the training center, remembering her having worn it in her hair then. It must be her token. Her young eyes flicker up to the timer hovering above us and, without breaking her gaze on it, she goes to stuff her token into one of the tight pockets on the front of our uniforms. As soon as her hand begins to pull away from the pocket I am unable to prevent myself from sucking in a huge gulp of air.

The bow was only halfway in. It tumbles down to the edge of her platform where it lands softly. My eyes grow wide as it tips dramatically towards the icy ground. I look instinctively to the timer and see that there is still over twenty seconds left. I bring my hands up to mouth and attempt to force myself to tear my eyes away but I can't help but watch, half in fascination and half in guilt, as the little blue bow falls to the arena floor.

It's only then that Six notices that it has fallen from her pocket and her hands fly to her mouth, eyes bulging out of her head. There's a delay, a good second or so that feels longer simply by circumstance, but in the end I know what will happen. Beneath our platforms it was made clear that there would be bombs, small ones just big enough to stop a tribute should they decide to head off early. The first death of the first Hunger Games in thirty years, at the hands of the Gamemakers.

The explosion is nearly enough to send me off of my platform too but I slip to my knees and grip my hands to the sides of it, much like the boy from Four who stands between myself and the condemned girl. I close my eyes as bits of black ash and slivers of metal rain down on us and when I finally open them, in the place of the girl from Six is nothing more than a smoking pile of black dust. Everything around me is silent, as if it had been everyone who died and not just one girl. Every tribute around me stares in fear at the remains even as the gong sounds. Yet, still no one moves.

I pull my hood up around my head as echo of the gong reaches my ears, the only movement that has been made despite the clear message that the Games are to begin. I don't want to see the world go to ruins around me.

* * *

**Rict Green, 18, District Seven**

Everyone freezes for a moment after the explosion; the echo of the forgotten gong in our ears as we stare like wide eyed infants at the flaming ashes that burn crèches into the snow. For a full minute I can hear nor feel nothing but the frigid breaths around me.

Then, all at once, hail begins to pelt down from the faraway sky. As soon as the bits rain down on our heads and shoulders the smoldering body is forgotten. Lost within the now frantic charge for the snow-dusted Cornucopia. I'm among the first to react, my feet flying from the platform before I have even realized I'd pushed off.

I'm not a fast runner, not like some of these other kids. By the time I reach the snowy horn, weapons have already been plucked from its grips, bags and bundles stolen from its mouth. The raven-haired girl from Ten sprints past me with a long sword and a backpack slung across her shoulders. Everyone behind me parts instinctively to avoid her swings.

I pump my arms faster, my legs harder than I thought possible. My breath puffs out in front of me and fogs my face in warmth as I continue to run forwards. It feels like several minutes before I slip to the mouth of the Cornucopia, though I know it only must have been a mere few seconds. Around me I can see the other tributes reaching it too. All of them bending quickly to throw straps over their shoulders or to shove bundles under their arms.

I don't know why but for some reason I ignore the bags passing beneath my feet completely. Battia told me that they were likely to contain survival supplies. Judging by the terrain of the arena I would guess matches, flints, water holders, and possibly what might be our only food source. My feet step across a few more but after the third or fourth one I convince myself to lean down quickly to pluck one from the ground. I realize that a tribute without whatever is in this bag might very well freeze or starve to death as I throw the straps over my shoulders, though my mind is very much elsewhere.

It is the curious glint of silver, not the dull canvas of survival, that holds my focus.

My bare fingertips touch freezing metal and, not for the first time, I wish that I had put on my gloves in the Launch room like my stylist had suggested. I don't pause though and it's after barely a second of hesitation that I grip the handle fully and pull the heavy axe from the icy ground.

I hear a squeak from near me and I see the girl from District Four stumble into the rim of the Cornucopia, her face stricken with an expression of fear. Her bright eyes are wide in terror as she glances behinds her, completely ignoring me as I remain slightly hidden in the shadows of the giant structure. I notice the tangled strings of a bundle twist through her fingertips; the other gloved hand is glued to one side. Blood dripping down her hand and onto the grey of her uniform.

They've really done it. They're actually going through with all of the training we had gotten these last few days, They're _killing _each other. I don't know why but by some miracle I had myself believing that we would never be able to do it. They're all just normal kids, kids I might have been friends with had we gone to the same school or lived in the same neighborhood. Just because someone has given them the outlet and the supplies to do it, they will. Regular children who, under exceptional circumstances, have turned to savages. Goes to show you the true power of fear.

The axe in my hand feels suddenly a universe heavier. I become aware of the heavy, pained breathing of the injured girl in front of me. The way her body curls in around her wound. The reddish stain that grows under her as fresh blood mixes with cold crystal.

Before I can truly even understand what I am doing, I run towards her. In the fifteen or so feet that close to ten, to five, to two, I lift my axe, close my eyes, and swing.

I'm surprised when I hear no scream. Although I am unsure if I simply expected one or if something deep within me had wanted there to be one. There was only a small, girlish gasp, soon cut short by the squish as metal cut through soft flesh and tough muscle and finally hard skull.

I hesitate just a moment before opening my eyes. The axe is now even heavier as it no doubt holds up a limp body on the lethal end. When I do open them I drop the handle instantly, staring at it a moment as it sinks deeper and deeper into the small girl's face. Time seems to stand still and I am suddenly unaware of anything happening around me. For just a moment there is only myself and the disfigured corpse of a girl who was, just seconds, ago breathing. Just minutes ago breathing. This only lasts a minute, the screams and cries returning to my ears almost as quickly as they had left them. a world of carnage opens up in front of me as I run from the inside of the Cornucopia and into the first tunnel my legs can get me to.

A blunt weight slams into my thigh as I run and I look down to see the axe still gripped in my hands, the sharp end splattered in crimson. Bits of grey brain and pink flesh coat the weapon but I don't dare let it drop from my hands. I keep hold of the soiled weapon that I don't even remember plucking from the dead girl's body even as I slip up icy stairs. The sounds of children; torn broken and screaming, getting further and further from my ears. Still, though, I hold tight and pound my feet as fast as I can through ice, snow and some half-liquid mixture of both.

Goes to show the power of fear.

* * *

**Trystan Rayon, 17, District Eight**

Someone bangs into my shoulder and I wince but keep on running. If this had been any other situation I would have called whoever had hit me out, but not now. Not with panicked tributes running around and swiping blindly at anything that makes a move towards them. this is serious now. Make no mistake, I am as confident in my strategy as before. For the first time in my life though, I can feel a little twinge of doubt clawing at the back of my mind threatening to take me over completely.

"Running, just keep running until you reach something," I choke to myself between heavy breaths.

As I reach the mouth of the white dusted Cornucopia I realize I am one of the last people to do so. I try and step in front of a depleting pile of swords but beneath the worn snow, however, the ice has other plans for me. It's far too slippery and my feet go out from underneath me. I catch myself roughly on my hands and grunt loudly upon impact. Before my mind has even caught up or made sense of the pain rushing up my arms, I am throwing myself back up to my feet.

I make my way back about three or four feet to the swords and bend down with the intent to grasp one. I slip once more and end up all but falling on top of one. The breath is thrust out of me as I catch myself again, this time barely five inches away from a pointed blade. I roll over to my backside, feet kicking out behind me and connecting with something that feels somewhat like rubber.

A cry of surprise reaches my ears from behind me and I swing my body around to face the sound. The blonde head of the boy from Six is visible over my shoulder and I am on my feet again within seconds. More screams litter the background but the only sound I can make any sort of sense of is the steady pulsing of blood in my ears.

I see the boy struggling to get upright, his thin arms flailing as the slippery ice sends him face first back into the snow. I don't even register that I have moved to stand over him until I am looking straight down at the dusted blonde head. Suddenly, I become timidly aware of the heavy weight clutched in my right hand. Before I can even understand what I'm doing my arm slices out with the sword towards the tiny, struggling body below me.

Just in time for him, the boy's head peeks up over the snow and he sees me standing over him. He rolls his body out of the way, not quite quickly enough to avoid the blade entirely, but certainly quickly enough to stop himself from receiving an instantly fatal cut. The sword slices across the front of his grey uniform deep enough to immediately draw blood.

A bone chilling scream cuts through the air as the young boy curls his body in around the freshly bleeding wound. The environment around me seems to stop entirely, if not for just a moment; the young shriek shocking us all into immobility. My body freezes and I don't even register the other figure rushing towards me within the frozen silence.

The battle screech of the girl from Seven is all it takes to make me remember how to move. I pivot hurriedly on my heel in a desperate attempt at avoiding the sharpened, bowless arrow running in her hand towards my heart.

My feet come out from under me and I fall, meanwhile hearing the sounds of chaos returning with a vengeance behind me. My limbs scramble against the icy floor; my entire body trapped in a desperate dance of escape.

I feel a weight on top me and I grunt in pain as a well placed kick hits me in the side, halting my movement just long enough for her to grab at the back of my hair and hold my head up by a giant fistful of it. Her breath puffs out into my face and I cough it away, the breath still refusing to return after her hard kick. She whispers something through gritted teeth and I just catch it as I watch her arm raise, poised to strike me. "You'll never live to do that to him again."

The pain that the arrow causes me as the girl presses it into the middle of my chest is excruciating and I cry out. No one makes note though, my dying scream bouncing off the icy walls and becoming lost amidst the others. As my vision begins to go red I can't help but wonder why it was that no one stopped to hear my scream.

Maybe it's because they realized that there's nothing to do to stop it. It's a coping method, if you know there is nothing you can do to stop it, why would you continue to fight for it? Especially when it would be so much easier to just pretend it never happened.

I'm just one more thing that people will pretend not to remember. My screech of pain and suffering no more than an echo off in the distance.

* * *

**Cecilia Howlite, 16, District One**

I hover near the edge of one of the tunnels as the fighting continues just twenty feet away. The thin gloves my stylist gave me make my slender fist look almost childlike as I press it nervously into the icy wall. I feel helpless just standing there, safe in the hollow cut out as the others fight for their lives via supplies so close to me, but I do not feel inclined to go in and help my district partner. It was his idea for me to wait and do nothing.

He told me to go to safety and wait for him here. He said he would find me when he could and that he would make sure to get enough supplies for the two of us to survive for a long while. Maybe it's not the smartest plan to put basically my life in the hands of someone I have just met, but it's too late to think about that now. Also, he doesn't seem like he would betray me like this. During training he never let me out of his sight, he helped me and made sure that I was getting the instruction I needed just in case he didn't make it today. He has faith in me that I can survive this, and maybe that has given me just enough faith in myself to actually do it.

Or maybe that's just been part of his plan all along. Maybe he only wanted me to feel this way so that I would stay with him and he would only abandon me here. I cannot even see him amidst the other tributes, until now I had just assumed that he must be on the other side of the Cornucopia, fighting his very hardest to get to me. Now I cannot be so sure. Not with this seed of doubt growing into suffocating vines in my brain. What if he only plans to leave me? What if he doesn't care whether I die or live? What if everything he made me think about him and myself is nothing but a grand facade? What if by trusting him I have only sealed my fate of a dirt covered grave?

I've been so stupid to trust someone so easily, just because they come from home.

My eyes scan the starting room once more, much more purposefully now than any other time. Blood flows through the snowy ground, creating thin divots that look like little, bloody rivers. I cannot remember a time when I have seen a place so beautiful as this, but despite this I can find no desire within me to stay. It's too open, and even though I cannot be sure what these tunnels will hold for me I find them far more comforting than the grand, open space I now look to. This beautiful, snow-filled haven is the perfect concentration point for all of the horrors that Liviticus told me would rain down upon us until the Games had been won.

We have already witnessed one of them, not exactly something particularly terrifying or sinister, but a method of control nonetheless. The hail that suddenly rained down on us after the explosion that took care of the little girl from Six before the Games had even truly started. The strange phenomenon that brought us all back before we could not be retrieved. They knew we would be way too far gone if we had been allowed to just stand there. It was the first reminder that even in here where we can no longer see the cameras or hear the instruction in our earpieces, that they still control us. And that they can do what they wish to us because nothing is stopping them.

I'm roughly knocked to the side as a boy my height comes speeding past me and only stops when his feet are taken out from under his as he slips into a hurriedly carved ice step. He grunts in pain and grabs onto one of the holds in the wall to right himself. I recognize him as the District Eleven male as he stares directly at me, his eyes wide in a mixture of surprise and fear and his body tensed. I don't know what to do, so I just stand there staring back at him, my back up against the cold wall and my eyes cutting into his.

It feels like hours as we both stand there unable to move for fear that the other person might be concealing a weapon. I know I have none but keep one hand behind my back to give him the illusion that I might, especially in the case he holds a knife in one of the hands I cannot see. Then, slowly, he brings his hands up to hover around his face. The palms face me and I see that they are empty. I do the same, bringing my hidden hand out to show him my empty palms. A sign that he has nothing to fear from me now that I know I have little to fear from him.

Suddenly I note that his body has become tense again, and his face contorts into the wide eyed expression I remember from before. It feels almost like an illusion as he begins to fall towards me, and I am too stricken with confusion to do anything but allow him to fall into me. His heavy weight slams me against the wall and I can feel his face nearly on top of mine. Something warm and liquid runs down my forehead and I throw him off of me, relieved and then horrified to see Obsidian standing just inside the tunnel.

"Did he hurt you?" He hisses as he envelops me in his arms, pulling me up from the ground and throwing the Eleven boy as far as he can away from us.

Tears start to pebble my vision and I feel faint, the sight of a knife that has been lodged straight into the middle of the boy's back overwhelming me entirely. He lays face first in the snow beneath our feet, not a breath to be sought from his corpse.

I shake my head. Obsidian sets me down on one of the steps and motions me to me to start going up them, towards the sky where I guess all the tunnels must lead. Just as I look back to wonder if he is following I see my district partner struggling the knife from Eleven's back, tearing flesh and bringing forth blood as he does so. My stomach turns and I retch, nearly spilling the entire contents of my stomach on the snow around me.

When I feel his arm wrap itself around my shoulder I nearly lose it again. The smell of blood and death still lingering on his body. I turn away from him and he just pulls me closer, whispering promises of how he is going to keep me safe.

* * *

**Remington Flores, 15, Capitol**

The strings of a bundle twist over my fingertips and I don't even dare to pause as I lift it from the ground. The thing is entirely wrapped in a layer of canvas with tight string that looks like thin rope holding it together. A small handle on it is enough for me to grab as I run past the body of the boy from Eight, his blood leaking from a terrible looking wound in his chest and onto the snow below him. His eyes are still open and my stomach churns as I run past him, all the while trying to do my best not to be sick.

A small backpack is already slung over one shoulder and now with one of the few bundles wrapped within my fingers I feel the need to get away. It was never an established plan that we all would go in and get stuff for ourselves, it was just a split second decisions as our plates rose. I don't think any of us truly know where we stand within the alliance except Vienna and Zander. Actually, judging by the events of Interview night I don't even know if they're sure either. We never got to regroup after those two left that night. Meaning that the last time we had been able to really speak together was the bit of time before our Private Sessions. Even then, we had all been far too concentrated on our own presentation to really care too much for coming up with a strategy.

This is what happens when you don't know what you're doing. You make rash decisions, and more importantly, you make mistakes.

I saw Seanna running behind the boy from Nine, both of them in a rush for the supplies and making pretty quick speed as I still stood slumped on my plate not knowing what to do. I saw him turn around with a knife in one hand and throw it at her. I saw her scream out in pain as it hit her low on the shoulder. I didn't see her after that and still don't, but I saw her in that moment and now I cannot even be sure if she is dead or alive.

I never truly thought that my allies and I could face death so soon until now.

I slip and slide around the Cornucopia, careful not to run into anyone or get to close to someone who looks even remotely dangerous. That was stupid, that would get you hurt like Seanna and most likely that would get you killed as well. My quickly chosen strategy was to stay away from anyone and everyone, ally or not until the confusion was over. Confusion and instinct would make people make brash decisions, I couldn't afford for one of those to be the decision to separate my head from my shoulders.

I slam my shoulder into the Cornucopia as my foot hits a particularly slippery sheet of ice and stuff my fist into my mouth to muffle my cry of pain. As I try to lever myself away from the cold side of the Cornucopia my head goes over my feet and end up face first in the snow with a pile snow shoved into my mouth. I cough and choke, not knowing whether or not it might be poisonous or something. I take a visible breath of relief as the white melts to water in my mouth.

I use my hands to lift myself from the snow and get up, carefully so as not to slip, to my feet. I search around me for any sign of my allies; Zander, Vienna, or hopefully even Seanna, but I can see none of them. I consider going back around to the other side to search for them despite the risk it will bring to my life. That is, until I see the backs of their retreating figures heading towards a tunnel roughly forty feet straight in front of me.

A wave of panic rushes over me, my eyes automatically searching for a threat that might be rushing after them causing them to leave without first finding me. My heart sinks a little when I see nothing, no sort of threat that would cause them to leave so hurriedly without me. They have no reason to abandon me, and yet there they are running towards a clear exit without me behind them.

Only after I start running towards them do I consider going through another tunnel by myself. But frankly the thought of being alone, even next to the option of being forgotten, terrifies me and I keep running faster and faster to try and catch up to them.

It's only when I am just ten or so feet behind them that I see Vienna turn to investigate the sound of footsteps and her face light up as she sees it's just me. She whispers something to Zander and he point ahead with one hand, towards the tunnel they are running for. I nod quickly, quickening my pace even further when I see them disappear into the tunnel. The fear of being left behind allows my body to move even quicker than I thought possible for me and it is only a few seconds later that I reach the tunnel. A wave of relief crashes over me when I see them standing at the bottom of a winding ice staircase waiting for me.

"Thank goodness!" Vienna breaths as she envelops me in a tight hug which I automatically return. "We couldn't find you or Seanna, we thought you'd both died."

I know this couldn't be true, I had searched for them many times. Surely if they had really wanted to find us they would have. Yet I hold onto the small possibility that maybe her words are true and they didn't want to abandon us. "I'm fine, but I saw Seanna get hurt."

Zander and Vienna look at each other at that point, as if they both knew something that they didn't want to share with me. When I can't stand the pause anymore I ask the question I think I already know the answer to. "Should we wait for her?"

Zander shakes his head no and nods towards the stairs. Vienna and him are the first two up with me bringing up the rear, my bundle and backpack secure on my body just like my allies' new belongings. As we walk, my throat begins to feel constricted as I think of Seanna. We were never close, but I saw how it felt to feel abandoned and it didn't feel good. I just hope that if she doesn't manage to find us that she finds someone. No one deserves to be alone in this place.

* * *

**Cole Grissom, 15, District Five**

Evangeline is the first one of my allies that I find and as she brings herself in to hug me I can see the drying tears still on her cheeks. I almost ask what's wrong before mentally slapping myself. A better question would be what's right seeing as where we are provokes nothing good to come. I hug her tightly despite still being in the midst of a battlefield and for a second I don't even care. I'm just relieved not to be alone anymore.

"Did you see June or Hudson?" I ask quickly as my eyes search for the nearest unoccupied tunnel. I can see that most of the fighting has ceased and the tributes that are still able to do so are gathering up their new supplies and shuffling off into one of the foreboding looking tunnels to soon discover the rest of the arena. The nearest tunnel to us I can see the boy and girl from Nine running towards, the girl pulling her district partner who seems to be in some sort of daze probably caused by the bleeding slice across his forehead. I decide immediately against following them in, opting to lead Evangeline towards the opening about twenty or thirty feet away from it.

She lifts the hand I had not grabbed to point to something in the direction of the Cornucopia and I whip my head around instantly to gather what it is she needed to point out. I don't realize that I have been holding my breath until it escapes my lips when I see Juniper running towards us carrying Hudson. Upon closer look I see that the front of Hudson's uniform is coated in blood and his chest just barely moves up and down with each breath The panic on the face of Juniper is instantly matched by my own expression and I take Hudson from her as soon as they reach us.

Juniper collapses into Evangeline in a fit of sobs, muttering things that I do not catch and burying her teary face into the grey of Evangeline's uniform. I want to assure her that everything is going to be okay, but I cannot rightly promise that. I don't like to make promises I am unsure if I can keep and I have no power over the life of my ally. All I can do is get him as far away from this battlefield and hope that one of us will be able to come to our right senses and figure out how to help him.

"We have to go, now," I say seriously and Juniper sobs loudly again. Evangeline nods quickly and begins to lead Juniper up the stairs behind Hudson and I. I keep moving, despite the throbbing in my arms and legs that begins almost immediately after I mount the first few steps. I don't give up though, one look down at my little ally is enough to keep me going. I have to keep him safe, I have to do everything I can to bring the fading light back into his eyes and let him live. Oh please, please just let him live.

We reach the end of the first set of stairs in a few minutes and I make the decision to head for the open balcony that leads to considerably steeper stairs. I would hope that we are the only ones desperate enough to head up that way. By this time Juniper is walking silently behind Evangeline, her sobs now less prominent but the red streaks down her face not fading even the slightest bit. She'll be fine, I hope. I know she is scared for him, the little kid that I hold close to my chest as if my own heart beat might remind his to keep rhythm.

The place we are crossing is thin and we have to go through single file or else the outer person would most certainly fall. I'm still leading us and my grip on Hudson only tightens as I stare down at the bloody area below us, now empty of everyone except one slender figure with their hood pulled over their head. I can hear the breathing behind me as Evangeline begins to follow me. That's when I get the stomach knotting feeling that something is wrong.

I hear her fall before I see it. The heel of her boot tries desperately to dig into the solid cliff of ice and her hands slam roughly against the wall behind us. Evangeline shrieks in surprise as her hands slide quickly down the walls and off the cliff. Juniper's screams don't stop the entire time and all I can do is watch. I'm the only one close enough to save her, but saving her would mean giving up on Hudson and letting him drop off the edge instead. My throat tightens but I don't reach for her. I dig my nails into the back of my hand hard enough to nearly draw blood.

My ally drops to the ground with a solid thud and my heart drops. I stare shocked at Juniper whose eyes are wide and filled with fresh tears. There's nothing to say and so we do not speak. My eyes subconsciously look down just in time to see the hooded figure turn tail and retreat through one of the tunnels, a backpack on their shoulders, a canvas bundle under one arm, and a trio of hunting knives in their pale hands. I spot Evangeline as well, her head twisted under her body and a puddle of melted snow and blood growing around her. I feel sick.

We get into the safety of the tunnel and for a moment the sick sight of my fallen ally leaves me and I feel only wonder. The ice gleams like crystal on the walls of the opening and the floor is slick and shimmery in the sunlight that leaks in through a hollowed skylight. I drop Hudson to the ground, his head resting on the bundle I had forgotten I was also carrying. Juniper falls to his side and undoes the zipper of his uniform, all the while searching through her backpack for anything that can be of use to him.

Seeing that I have nothing more to do, I begin to look around. By the time I am ten feet away from my two remaining allies a sudden thunderous sound booms in my ears and I jump. A cannon. That must mean that they are ready to mark the death of this first day. To my surprise, I see a tall carved picture appear that takes up at least my height of space in the ice as the first cannon is sounded. That little girl, Winter. The one whose dropped token cost her a life. The first one dead.

The second cannon brings another face to the one beside Winter and I see that it is the girl from Four. I follow the pictures as they appear down the stretch of tunnel. By the time I get to Evangeline I realize that I am crying. Knowing that this many are already gone. That five families will be mourning their children already.

The cannons stop and I sit down, needing to be alone for just a little bit longer so that I can be collected, calm, and help Juniper grieve and help Hudson to live. For just this one moment I break down, I allow the tears to coat my face and allow myself to grieve alone for just a few minutes. Knowing that after this time I will never again cry until I can be alone to do so.

The blast of another cannon brings me back and I look up to the blank wall in front of me. Tears run down my face again when I see the cheery smile of my youngest ally looking back at me. He's dead. His family that he never talked of will only have a lifeless body to see upon his return. I failed to keep him alive. I failed to get to him soon enough for him to live. Tears begin to coat my cheeks again and I shiver, the liquid near turning to ice on my face.

It's too hard to pretend that I am strong when inside my heart is breaking. A young death is tragic to the fullest extent, that much can never be denied. But maybe, sometimes, a long life half-lived can be just as sad.

* * *

_**Winter Darnish, District Six**_

_**Seanna Fyera, District Four**_

_**Trystan Rayon, District Eight**_

_**Lorcan Raff, District Eleven**_

_**Evangeline Dyre, District Eleven**_

_**Hudson Rienhart, District Six**_

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be**_** My Chemical Romance.**_

**Song: **_**Save Yourself I'll Hold Them Back**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. Deaths will be notified there.**

* * *

**I am terribly sorry to the creators that have lost their tributes, I do hope that you will stick around to see the progression of the story. If not then that is okay too and I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Characters were killed based on personality, storyline and of course whether or not their creator reviewed. Hopefully no hard feelings if your character is gone. **

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**What do you think of the arena?**_

_**Did any of the deaths surprise you? Any of the survivors?**_

* * *

**I apologize in advance, Bloodbaths have never really been a strong point of mine, since it is meant to be more fast paced and full of action. I think I dwelled on the thoughts a bit too much, but please remember that these are the thoughts going through their minds AS the action is happening, not like they stopped to think this. Also, it wasn't as brutal as others, mainly because these tributes for the most part don't know really what they are supposed to do and are acting on pure instinct. **

**Also, some of you may have seen that in the last update for **_**Painted Crimson**_** I mentioned that I will now be trying to update more frequently. As such, the update day for this story should be every Wednesday, or thereabouts. You may have noticed that this is in fact Monday, for that you can thank Sam because he guilted me into updating early xD there will be another chapter on Wednesday (yes, in 2 days!).**

**PS: The poll results have been posted! Congratulations to Veralidaine Vantos and Natalya Marrion for their tied first place!**


	9. Of Blood

**Demolition Lovers by My Chemical Romance **

_I'll see your eyes, and in this pool of blood  
I'll meet your eyes, I mean this forever_

* * *

**Damon Malthus, Head Gamemaker**

The President made it very clear that during his absence nothing was to go askew. Not a single hair is his plan was to be ruffled. I had his private relay number, if I had any suspicions that something was being planned by anyone that would put his first Hunger Games' success in jeopardy, I need only press one key and he would be immediately alerted to the fact. Nothing will go wrong, though, of that I must make certain.

Every Gamemaker on this year's panel has already moved into the Control Room, each of them outfitted in the traditional white lab coats with the seal of Panem strewn across their back. All of the females have their hair tied back, as per my orders to ensure they are entirely focused, and an Avox awaits orders behind each one. Everything is to continue on exactly as planned.

I sit at a special desk I had built specifically for myself. From here I have access to every camera in the arena and every Gamemaker wears an earpiece, awaiting orders that can only be made through my unique speaker system. I am elevated over the Control Room on an eight foot balcony and my panel sits below me in a ring formation. Each of their headsets tuned into my frequency and each of their screens lit and ready for manipulation. The breathing in the room begins to get back down to normal volume as the six cannon blasts ring out through the room just like what is currently happening in the arena.

The Bloodbath is now over. The arena has been revealed to the whole of Panem. The President has likely seen the beginnings of our work. I can only remain here and hope that we have done enough, that and figure out who is to blame should Cyrus not be entirely pleased.

The carvings were something I myself created after the plans for the arena had been approved for building. Somehow I had to figure out a way for the images of the fallen tributes to be seen by the remaining contestants, a once simple event that would take place in the sky each night in the arena. The issue was that the sky was not visible from everywhere in my arena. I had to get creative, look back to other years of past Hunger Games in which there was no sky available for use as a message board.

I looked to one year when the arena was made to look like the inside of an art gallery. In this arena they had no shared sky or ceiling that could be used to display the fallen tributes. So what did the Gamemakers decide to do? They used the special features their arena did have to do it. They used the paintings. Every night the anthem would play for the remaining tributes and they would learn to get to the nearest painting or photo frame to see which tributes had died on that day. It was genius. They trained the tributes to move around, to put themselves in danger, to see what information they felt like they needed.

So what did I do?

I used the features of the arena that myself and the panel had come up with. I used the _ice. _Every long tunnel in the arena, and there were oh so many of those, was built like a hall of fame. The fallen tributes would be added to the list that had already been revealed to some of the remaining tributes and that was how we could communicate with them.

But why stop at just the fallen? Why not use the ice to do other things? These were the ideas that came with my revelation. If I could do this within the walls of my creation, what is to stop me from communicating other things. Other small snippets of information to make them nervous. Little messages to specific contestants that would make their blood boil and their eyes tear up. We could control them like this.

What's the best part, someone might ask? Well that's simple; it's the fact that no one but myself and the tributes will be able to see any of it. Besides the carvings of the fallen tributes, the power to see anything more than polished ice will be limited only to me. No one will know what I am doing, but I will singlehandedly ensure that this Hunger Games will be something to remember. And when President Cyrus asks me what my key to success has been I will tell him nothing. If he ever tries to replace me he will be met with only frustration. My job will be forever secure, until I pass on my secrets to my oldest son and him to his own child. A never ending cycle of success for all my descendants based in one simple idea of communication.

"Mr Malthus, sir, the President is on line one for you," my assistant Elseba informs me. She leans in front of me to tap the relay device located on the edge of my desk. She hands me my custom made hand-free set and retreats to stand a respectable distance away from me, leaving me to my important call.

"Sir?" I ask into the microphone and I am met with a moment of static before a gravelly voice addresses me.

"Damon," he says and then clears his throat loudly causing me to wince. "I am pleased with the Games so far, but I have some suggestions. I am having my assistant send over a photo, this is the one I do not approve of. I expect that you will dispose of them properly as soon as possible."

"Yes, of course, sir," I answer and over the strong breathing of the man on the other line I hear the high chirp as a message is received at my desk. I touch the file and wait three seconds before lifting it and watching it open to my specific fingerprint. The picture does not surprise me in the least, though I had wished to have a bit more fun with this particular tribute before having to kill them off. "Are you certain that it cannot wait a few days? With all due respect, I have plans for this one."

"Damon, I trust your judgement on the matter," he begins but his words do not fool me. I know I have quite possibly made a huge mistake in questioning his instruction. But, we have known each other for a long while and I should hope that he has the same confidence in me that I have in myself. "Though you should know not to cross me. This tribute will cause trouble should they be kept for too long. Fulfill your plans for them but don't delay. I expect them dead by the end of the week."

"Certainly, thank you, sir," I mutter as my eyes scan over the cameras, zooming in on one in particular that seems to have caught our very first interaction. I touch the box with this feed in it and send it to the television station. That is also part of this job, deciding what the public sees as well as what they do not see. It's not rocket science, if there is anything being shown that could be considered rebellious, I must have the common sense to switch feeds. A rather simplistic concept.

"Damon," I hear Cyrus whisper and I let out a small sound of recognition to let him know I am still on the line. "Don't make it too obvious either. The Capitol is not to know we are interfering with the choosing of a Victor."

"Of course, sir."

With that he ends the call and my headset returns me to the muffled breathing of my Control Room. There is still so much to plan and so many factors to decide upon. It might be that our first major obstacle has been jumped, but these Games are not over. Not by a long shot.

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be**_** My Chemical Romance.**_

**Song: **_**Demolition Lovers**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. Deaths will be notified there. **

**I am terribly sorry to the creators that have lost their tributes, I do hope that you will stick around to see the progression of the story. If not then that is okay too and I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Characters were killed based on personality, storyline and of course whether or not their creator reviewed. Hopefully no hard feelings if your character is gone. **

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**What do you think Gamemaker Damon is up to with the arena walls?**_

_**Did you enjoy this chapter? Think it a waste of words? Opinions please!**_

* * *

**I know you are all probably wondering why this isn't a Games chapter like you had probably been expecting, but for this story I have started to make some changes to the format I use. Now I will be adding in two chapters within the Games for outside perspectives. This could be anyone from the President, to a Gamemaker (like this one), to the bum down the street (probably not, but you know). Hopefully you are all okay with this!**

**Next chapter should be Wednesday, as per usual! **


	10. Stain

**Helena by My Chemical Romance**

_And like the blade you stain,  
Well I've been holding on tonight_

* * *

**Juniper Haywood, 17, District Seven**

Watching Cole break down after Hudson's death was confirmed has to be the final blow. I can't do it anymore, my heart just cannot take any more bullets before it will shatter into invisible little shards of glass. I thought this was what I wanted, maybe even what I needed to have in these Games. But I just don't want the responsibility of someone else burning into my shoulders when I already have the welfare of my own life weighing me down. It's just too much for me right now. I need time, even though that is something I'm almost certain I will not be given easily.

"Cole, I'm done."

He looks up at me slowly over tear brimming lids and I almost take the words back. I swallow thickly and force myself to face him though. His tear streaked, reddened face that for some reason cries no further. Maybe it is because he feels the same way. That he has realized the burden of having another person to worry about, when you should really be competing against one another, is too much for him as well. Maybe, though, he has only realized that nothing he could do would make me change my mind right now.

His head shakes and a few stray pellets of hail rain onto his shoulders. Even though know it was me that has chosen this my heart sinks with this confirmation. Part of me almost wishes that he would have tried to say something to make me stay, even though I know it would have just made it harder for me to walk away in the end. I guess I just thought we had gotten closer over the course of training. Almost like a mother and father without the romance, watching over two energetic little tykes. Only now our family has gone to its grave and there is nothing remaining for us to hold onto.

I stand and pull my abandoned backpack off the icy floor, snow shedding off it as I shake it lightly. I still have very little knowledge of what it contains other than that it holds nothing that could have helped me save Hudson in time.

I feel a lump begin to form in the pit of my stomach at the mere thought of his name. I don't know if this is a pain I will ever be able to rid myself of. Maybe it's just too soon, though.

Bag slung over my back and heart heavy with guilt I take one last, long look at the only reminder there is left of my broken alliance. I want to give him a hug, to wish him well, but I'm too afraid that my voice will break. So instead, without a word or even a nod of acknowledgment, I take the first set of stairs I reach and start climbing. To where, I don't know if I'll ever truly know.

I feel so much lighter walking up these steps without the echoing of feet behind me. It's almost like it was meant to be like this, as if I was never supposed to have had anyone else with me at all. The ceilings in this new area are higher, giving the room an almost cavernous appearance. A chill runs down my spine and I can't decide whether it's because of the cold or because of my newfound confidence in myself. Maybe everything really has been written in these ice caves for me to win. Everything just seems way to perfect. It's almost enough to make me forget about the things that brought me to this.

The two names and faces that hit me like a bullet to the heart every time I find myself thinking about them. Hudson and Evangeline, two of the most innocent kids I have ever met. Each with their little quirks and flaws, but both so real because of them. I'd like to think that maybe if circumstance hadn't brought us together in this light, we would have all been brought together anyway. The two troublemaking kids and Cole and I. A strange little family that never really had the opportunity to show the other tributes wheat we could do.

Now two of them are gone, and I did nothing to stop it.

I pause mid step and push the guilt away as far as my mind will throw it. It wasn't my fault, there was nothing I could do. Nothing. I have to remember that. Otherwise I think the blame might eat me from the inside out.

A tiny beeping from somewhere nearby catches my ear and I search around me, finally seeing the small silver ball stuffed into a little nook about four or five feet above my head. My heart jumps, a sponsor gift! I run carefully over to stand beneath the thing so as not to slip but hesitate before taking the climb t it. Perhaps it's nothing more than another trip, just like the little shortcut we took that cost Evangeline her life. I gulp thickly and prepare myself to leave it, but curiosity beats out the logic and I start climbing. It's not that far up, I remind myself. I'll be back on the ground before I can even bat an eyelash.

My hand clasps around cold metal and I bring it down towards my face with a smile. Just as my foot moves down to the lower nook I feel my balance shifting out from under me and I'm on the ground within a fraction of a second. The air is knocked out of my lungs and I sputter trying to find breath in the cold. It takes a few seconds, but soon enough my chest is yet again full of air and I again notice the cold metal stuck in my hand.

I press a little red button on the side of the strange thing and it opens automatically. My eyes peer inside and I smile at the contents, taking it out and pulling it over my head. A toque! Of course Battia wouldn't want me to freeze to death, especially not on the first night. I grin widely because I never even had to ask for the gift, never even realized I might need it until it was snug around my ears. Part of me wonders if Rict might have received one as well, but I dismiss the thought. It's none of my business what Rict does or does not get.

I then see the little slip of white paper peeking out of the rim of my hat and down into my face. I pull it out with one gloved hand and scan it quickly.

_Excellent move! We're all the alliance you could need. –B_

I smile, knowing that she approves of my move. Maybe now she is considering that I might know what I'm doing, even if I haven't spent years like she has watching the Hunger Games in my childhood. It might be wrong, since I know very little of what strategies I should be imploring right now, but she doesn't need to know that. I'm just glad to know that maybe I'm not heading in death's direction.

* * *

**Brennen Dwyloe, 17, District Two**

"Natalya, are you sure you're alright?" I hear Kor ask her for at least the third or fourth time since we've gotten far enough away from the sounds of the Bloodbath for him to feel comfortable speaking again. She laughs lightly in response and offers him a cute smile. I feel my skin crawl as I look back at the two of them, close enough for her breath to puff out beautifully on his cheeks. I don't know if I can even stand to be around them with this tiny little display of affection. But for some reason I can't leave them, for fear for what they might do if I were to leave them alone.

"'Talya's strong enough to outlast that little fight," I say over my shoulder and Natalya gives me a cheeky smile. "No need to keep asking you'll just annoy her, Kor."

"I'm merely just making sure," he tells me and then turns to Natalya. "Very sorry if I was annoying you."

I want her to tell him that he was and that he should just leave her alone for once in a blue moon. I almost say the words for her because it just bothers me so much that he looks so good with every word that comes out of his mouth and I just keep looking like even more of an ass than I already do. I stop walking to allow her to catch up to me and I catch her arm within mine, pulling her closer to me. She doesn't hesitate and nuzzles her head into my neck, all the while though I can see her smiling over to Kor.

"You weren't," she smiles. "I appreciate the attention, really."

I keep my arm around her waist and we walk in near silence, only the soft creaking of ice under our feet as we step forward. I never knew it could be this snowy an icy in anyplace in Panem. As it is, district Two hardly gets more than a few months of cold weather before it gets to be spring again. I can't imagine where we must be for it to be this cold. Though I do remember the hovercraft being impossibly long. This only strengthens the questions I want to ask to anyone that might have any kind of answer.

_Where the hell are we?_

There are a lot of little divots in the ice, some of them no more than a foot or hand hold with which you can climb up to the next path much faster than walking would get you there. I wouldn't risk it though, that's the advice that both my Escort and Mentor agreed on. Don't take any risks if you don't have to and remain the predator and not the prey. As long as you're the predator you don't have to do anything but chase you prey, and they've already ensured a clear path for you. It's when you allow yourself to get chased that you can run into problems. Luckily I don't think I'll ever have issues with that, I'm not one to be chased by anything but lust-filled ladies.

There's been a few caves that we have seen on our way up, but none of them so far have looked big enough to house two of us, let alone three. It was my decision to just keep moving until we find one, despite Kor's protests that we should find somewhere to sleep before the few little skylights and carved windows go dark for the night. I would have listened to him, if not for the fact that we would have all had to sleep almost on top of one another. There is no way I'm letting him get that close to Natalya, not even over my dead body.

I can already see the shadows getting deeper and darker as we continue walking, and oftentimes slipping, up the ice steps. Maybe it would have been a better idea to stop when we'd passed the last cave, the largest one we have seen all day, because there hasn't been one for nearly an hour and I'm starting to get worried. What if for the rest of the way up, wherever up led, was straight and open like this? Hiding three people in this would be difficult if not impossible. Not for the first time I consider just offing Kor right now, it would be pretty easy if I really timed it right. But no, that might lose Natalya's trust, and that's not something I'm quite ready to give up. Not yet when I have no idea how long this will go on and whether or not I'll need someone to back me up. She's not the strongest, not by a longshot, but she's pretty to look at that I'll admit. Maybe if we're lucky we'll be fighting a bunch of hormone-crazed boys and she can just distract them while I kill them all. You know, if I don't get distracted too.

It would be so easy to get rid of him. To just hide Natalya and I in one of those caves back there until the Games were over and then I could just kill her. The thought of cutting anything or stabbing anywhere on her pretty little figure makes me sick, but I would do it if it came down to her or me. Right?

"Brennen, up here!" I hear Kor whisper-yell from around the corner and I jump, sliding to my stomach on the ice with an ungraceful thud. Natalya giggles and tried to help me up with her free hand, but since my weight is probably double hers she just ends up falling on top of me. Both of us are tangled in a knot of giggles and struggling limbs when Kor comes around the corner, smiling and shaking the head at the two of us.

"Come on you two. There'll be plenty of time for that once we get settled in our new temporary home," he teases and leans over to help Natalya off of me.

* * *

**Sheria Maurell, 18, District Nine**

Heath grimaces as I press one of the spare gloves from my pack to his forehead. He has assured me that he is perfectly fine but the steady flow of blood raining down half of his face tells me otherwise. I know he hates when people touch him, that much was sure that one night after training that he nearly sent our mentor to the hospital floor with a carefully aimed plate, but for some reason he doesn't make a move to push me away from him. For this I'm almost thankful. I'm not a medic nor anything close to it, but I can try and help him in any way I can think of. After all, he's the only one that stayed with me.

I did want allies, for most of the pre-Games I had considered who I would want should I somehow be allowed to choose, but I guess sit was never in the cards. At least I had him. He would never have been my first or probably fifth choice to have as an ally, but at least I didn't have to go through this whole thing alone. I think that thought would have been enough to send me jumping off my plate right after that girl from Six. Now at least I have someone to fight alongside me, even if he is sort of… different.

There has been something strange with him that I have noticed since as far back as the train ride to the Capitol. I would have loved to ask him about it, maybe even offer him some sort of advice or help if I thought it might do anything, but there really isn't a polite way to ask if he knew what was wrong with him. I guess I'll just have to wonder, maybe if I'm feeling brave one day I'll find the words to ask. I hate the idea that anyone might be holding something inside them that could be hurting the way the live their life.

"I'm fine," he says and I nod reassuringly but my fingertips continue to press lightly onto the deep cut. He tries to squirm away but I put one hand on his shoulder to stop him and he lets me. His eyes don't meet mine, I don't think they ever have come to think of it, and instead he looks around me at the walls of ice that surround our tiny hiding place. There's not much room in here, and there's barely enough room for us to put out legs out and even so, Heath has to bend his nearly up to his chest so that I can work around him.

"It's pretty in here. Don't you think?" I ask, trying to break the silence that seems to fall over us most of the time in here.

He nods slightly. "How big do you think it is?"

"Who knows, didn't they say that this thing was supposed to last a week at least? It must be pretty big then I guess."

"Oh."

That's how most of our conversations end, either with one word of dismissal or with a curt nod from one of us. I guess it never was going to be very comfortable alliance with two people with the social skills of a fence post. Maybe it wouldn't have been such a bad idea to let in that girl from Eleven like I had considered in the early days of the Capitol, before I had heard her open her mouth and never close it again. At least then there would have been someone to start the conversations and keep them going for a while.

A pang of guilt hits me as I realize that I'm joking about someone who had fallen. It was just weird to me. To think that someone that I had seen walking around, conversing, _breathing_, was now nothing but a pile of flesh and blood without a heartbeat to keep it alive. I mentally slap myself again. It will never feel right to joke about any of the faces I had seen in the ice ever again.

I guess I just can't believe that they are really falling.

It's impossible to think that the others in here are actually killing. I just didn't think any of us had the killer gene, but I've been wrong before. I must be wrong now, because the cannons are still booming and the bodies are still dropping cold.

* * *

**Invidius Regium, 18, District Two**

How can I stand to be away from Rambin for so long?

That is simply because I know that we will be reunited upon my return. Soon enough, I know that his arms will once again wrap their warmth around me and I know that his puckered lips will find their way back to mine. We are like one entity. As long as he breathes, I do as well. When he is hurt, I can feel the pain. If his emotions run high, mine hit a peak. Without him I am nothing; without him I would be dead by the person I think I once called 'Father'.

I don't remember much from before. All I really know is that everything bad I can ever think of comes from my Father, his memory vivid but at the same time blurred if that makes any sense at all. I can see him clearly, the way he acts and the way he looks are fresh in my mind as if I had looked upon him every day of my life. But any kind of memory of his and I's interactions are too blurred and far between for me to make sense of why I feel he has caused the blur of memories in me. I know, though, that it was him. I know it as a child knows their mother or a wolf knows their prey; without having to be told.

Just as everything bad brings me back to my father, everything bad brings me back to Rambin. His gentle touch, the words he whispers to me as he tries to calm me while I'm having an episode of remembrance. Everything about his is good. I always love to hear the stories about how he found me, even though he tells me that it pains him to remember me like that. He would tell me how he carried me to his home on the outskirts of town, how it just seemed so right to him to do that for a girl he had never met. While his mother cared for me he let me stay in his room while he slept on the sofa in the front room. Even after I awoken from the sleep that my body went into to recover from the beating I had no doubt received from my father, he let me stay there. He insisted that I remain with them because he couldn`t bear to send me back to somewhere I could get hurt like that again.

That`s when he said he realized that he had fallen for me.

I have seen how these types of things happen around District Two. Two teenagers who talk and hang around soon become more, both of them work to make it more than a friendship and it takes time. But not with us, not with Rambin and I. I never even had to say a word and he was mine.

In a way, we really are one person. Every night I went to sleep on the cot that was set up downstairs because his mother didn`t like the idea of us together alone at night, I could feel it when he finally fell asleep. That was the only time that I didn`t feel the connection, when I knew he must be asleep. For the first while I had cried and run upstairs when the connection stopped, thinking something might have happened and he was dead. Finally I realized that sleep is the only time he is at peace, and that is why I can`t feel what he is feeling so intensely.

It`s so strange to think about these things, now that they`re not as close as I had tried to keep them. I could always sense where the people that I love are, that is how I always knew where to find Rambin or Everett when I could feel in my mind that they needed me. Now I am disoriented, my body pulses and tells me that they are towards the opposite direction I am heading. I have just come from there, though, and there was no sign of them. I don`t know where they are, and I am beginning to think that I cannot even count on my own body to tell me reality.

I just don`t know what to think anymore, I am so confused.

My fingers trace the side of the ice walls and water drips down my fingers as body heat melts the structure. The faces are only there when I touch the ice unless I am in one of the major tunnels, I have learned, but unlike some might I don`t feel the need to pull away when their ghost white images appear. I do not know them, and I can only assume that they are the ones no longer here as my own image is not there. I keep my fingers pressed to the ice so that the images follow me in the smaller allies. I keep my eyes glued to them, searching for a new face that I do not wish to see among the dead.

Rambin.

The images fade before me and I pause to inspect the surface. I continue on after a minute or so, thinking that maybe this is just because I am nearing a major tunnel, but nothing opens up ahead of me and the images still have left. I bring my hand away from the surface and stare intently at the ice, willing something to happen. Just then, something else appears within the solid surface and it makes my heart nearly leap out of my chest with both relief and a newfound determination.

"_He is here, just keep looking."_

* * *

**Zander Flyx, 16, District Three**

Paranoia is already present in all of us, I can feel it. Like a constantly beating drum that must be some kind of sick rhythm created by all of our pounding hearts. I didn't believe anyone when they said that the Hunger Games makes tributes change, not when Maybeline told us all about her experience with one of the Victors as a young teen and especially not when Leandros told me to look out for everyone because you never know who will crack under the pressure. Now, when I'm actually sitting in this place surrounded by cameras and people that may or may not be trying to kill me, their accounts don't sound all that farfetched anymore.

"I can't believe this place," Remy says and I consider answering before I see his dazed eyes and realize that he probably isn't expecting a response. He has been like this ever since we were far enough away from the Bloodbath and its many deaths. I haven't seen his eyes this wide since his first entrance into the Training Center, granted back then I had only made fun of his wonder. Now I find it kind of strange, that of all times that he has every right in the world to break down he only seems exhilarated by the experience. His pounding heartbeat joins the symphony of Vienna and I, only his out of awe and ours out of utter terror.

Strange how different the Capitol can be, even now when they're supposed to be on even ground with us district kids.

I look over to Vienna and see her following the gaze of Remy's eyes, her own expression blank or maybe even curious. Without anything better to do I too follow their stares towards the sky, where light seems to radiate from nowhere in particular. I scan the premise for windows, skylights like in the Cornucopia room, anything that could be causing the glowing light, but come up with nothing. One more mystery that is likely going to bother me for a good while, but that I have no way of solving. I've got a feeling that I'm going to hate this place even more than I had thought.

Vienna shivers and the jittery motion catches my eye. I start to shuffle over to her with one of two wrapped bundles in hand but she scoots away, positioning herself to face in the opposite direction of Remy and I. I try and get closer but she just huffs and shuffles herself into the wall, giving me a cold glare that makes me think twice about bothering her.

"Vi, you can't avoid me forever you know. We are supposed to be allies."

She turns up her nose at me and busies herself trying to untie the countless knots holding the strange bundle together. I'm curious as to what is contained in it, seeing as all the supplies I could think of are in the packs or just simply not necessary for survival in this place. For instance, we have enough matches to light a fire every hour for the next week, but have nothing by means of water. If I were truly stupid, I would be freaking out about not having anything to drink, but if it's not already evident I am not stupid.

Just take some of that snow we were knee deep in for half of our trip up here and boil it in a pot for a bit, pour it into one of the bottles and stick it in the snow to cool. Simple, really. And survival isn't even my strong suit.

I'll enjoy watching someone go dehydrated though, and laughing all the while at their unsung ignorance. It would almost be as funny as being trapped in a cellar filled to the brim with frozen fruit or meat and no one having the common sense to go and find a way to unfreeze any. Sometimes it's not the smart people that are the most fun to be around. Idiots have their own way of keeping people around.

I am just about to try again to converse with Vienna when a set of heavy footsteps becomes audible and we all freeze in fear. Nobody moves and I don't think anyone even has the courage to breathe as the steps get louder and louder, echoing against the solid ice walls. A tall shadow slinks into view from around one bend and I swallow thickly, knowing that whoever this was would be on us in a few seconds. I strain my ears to try and depict whether they are alone and if I had to guess I would say they are. My heartbeat quickens in my chest and I move my grip to the silver slingshot at my belt, using my fingertips to guide a little metal ball into the launch.

Just as the figure turns the corner I have my slingshot up and aimed, preparing to send the tiny bullet through their eye. At the last second before I release the tension in the strings a hand slaps the weapon from my grip and it along with the bullet roll to the floor towards the newcomer.

"No, don't hurt him!" I hear Vienna's voice yell and I'm about to argue with her when I see the boy waver on his feet and fall to the ground, still a good ten or so feet away from the three of us.

Vienna springs up and rushes over to him, kneeling down beside him and rolling him onto his back. I don't move but just watch the two of them, part of my mind cranking to figure out who the boy is. No name comes to mind but only a district, Four. Yes, that's definitely him. The District Four male, somewhere close to my age I think.

"Help me!" Vienna cries from over her shoulder and it only takes Remy a second or so to jump up to his feet and rush over to them. Without another option left with both of my allies running to the newcomer's aid, I too warily step over until I am standing between Vienna and Remy. Remy already has gone to work, pulling the zipper of his uniform down the fabric as Vienna scrounges through the bags we have looking for Panem knows what. When Remy finally manages to free part of the boy from his uniform I feel what little food I had eaten before the Launch begin to churn in my stomach, threatening to come up my throat at any second.

There's a deep, diagonal slash across the boy's chest; the part over his heart thin and only slightly bleeding but as it reaches down to his side it grows in thickness and blood. By the time it reaches his arm I can see bits of muscle and bone out of the thin limb. I turn away from the sight, not understanding in the least how Vienna and Remy could stand to look at the horrible image.

"What are we going to do with him?" I ask, trying my best not to up my dinner.

"What do you mean?" Vienna responds quickly, not tearing herself away from tending to his wound for even a second. "We can't just leave him!"

I nod but I know she doesn't see it. Part of me is glad that we won't be abandoning him for at least that means we aren't totally gone from ourselves yet. But more of me yanks at the chance to kill the boy for real this time, so that he won't be able to stumble into our little home ever again. I try to swallow that piece of me down because I don't want anyone to see it, _I _don't even want to see it. I can't hide from the truth, though, and the truth is that the way Vienna looks over him makes my blood boil.

* * *

**Santanna Cromms, 17, District Eight**

"Are you okay, Rict? You seem on edge," I ask and immediately regret the words. Of course he's on edge! Now he is going to think I'm an idiot. Just when I finally get to be alone with him I have to ruin it for myself. Have I not waited for this very moment ever since joining with the fair-skinned boy in the Capitol? I think quickly for something to say to redeem myself. "I mean, how are you faring with all of this?"

Yeah that sounded a bit better, I think so at least.

"I-I, I just don't know," he admits and I notice that his hands are shaking as they still grip the handle of an axe that he must have picked up from the Cornucopia. It's still full of blood, as if it had already been used before he even laid eyes on it. The thought makes me shiver, to think that this very thing might have caused injury or even death to someone my age or possibly even younger. I don't voice any of this, though, not even the tiny part of me that wonders if maybe one of those faces in the hallway was caused by his very hands. Couldn't be though, right? He seems far too sweet and genuine to have been able to find the power to kill a living person.

"What don't you know," I ask in a whisper, laying my hand softly on his thigh. He must not notice, because he doesn't say a word or even move towards me. His eyes just stay glued to the wall above me, as if something up there might be drawing his attention away from me. I steal a quick glance behind me and see nothing, leaning in towards Rict just ever so slightly to get him to at least acknowledge me. He still does nothing, though, and I curse in my head. Am I really that unnoticeable that a wall could be more intriguing to a teenage boy?

I thought that maybe with Soren gone, and the brotherhood they had together along with him, I would have a chance to really spend time with Rict. It's not like I have great odds at ever getting to see my district or any other people in it again. If I'm being realistic I have to say that I am not expecting to win, but there are things I want to experience before I go. If this has to happen, I want to have all the things that I would never get to have after death. I want a chance at love, or at least something simulated like it. I want to be wanted by someone else. I want to have someone to hold my hand even as the life drains out of me.

Or maybe I just want someone to care.

I haven't had that someone for over six years now. I try not to be bitter, I try not to make myself feel horrible about the situation I have been put into since the tender age of eleven, but it's so hard not to. Every day I wake up and wonder if it would just be easier for me to finish the work the fire did to my entire family. I consider if maybe I was supposed to have died with the three of them. Even when I was Reaped, I wouldn't help but think that maybe this was fate calling me back from the luck that had saved me all those years ago.

Maybe this was the time for me to go, to finally let go of the burden that all of this had caused for me and my best friend and her family, who have suffered with another mouth to feed for years just so that I would not starve in the streets. Was this destiny's way of telling me that my time had finally come? I would have liked to think that I was meant to survive and be strong, to carry on the wonderful legacy that my family had given to me. But with all these signs pointing in the opposite direction it was impossible not to consider the opposite. That all of us were supposed to have fallen to that fire six years ago.

I just don't want to die with any regrets. I don't want to be gone from this world without first taking one of the chances I have been handed of love. After my family was nearly wiped out, I had wanted nothing else but to push everyone away so that I could never be hurt again and so that I would never hurt anyone like I had been hurt when my family's time had come. Now I _want _someone to love me. Now I want that chance that I never found the courage to accept.

I want the tender, loving touch. Even if it is just part of some act to get me to trust him. The truth is I don't care. I don't care if I die, I just don't want to die like this, With a heavy heart and a tearful soul.

"I can't hide anymore," Rict whispers and I'm not even sure if I was supposed to have heard him because of the emotion held in that little murmur. I lean in close to him, though, letting him know that I heard him and that I'm here. That I am right here with him.

"Then don't," I say simply and he turns to me, a look in his eyes that looks as hungry as a wolf before it consumes a stray deer. He suddenly has changed, his posture is no stat and his eyes don't hide from me anymore. Now, though, when I look deeply into them I don't see kindness but hunger. An insane, feral look that makes me lean back with sudden fear.

"I won't," he mumbles to himself as he brings the axe closer to him, a slight, open-lipped smile cutting across his face. "I won't hold it in anymore. I won't take it. I can't take it."

"R-Rict?" I stutter but he doesn't hear me, instead he looks deep into my eyes and laps up the fear that must be evident in them. "W-what d-d-do you m-mean?"

"I'm going to be me, I'm not going to hide anymore," he says with feral looking grin as the axe raises over me and leaves my body cowering against itself. I realize that I am powerless to run, and that if I could I am not even sure if I would. This is just fate after all.

The blade slashes down and I close my eyes before it hits me. I will join my family now, just like destiny has always intended for me to.

* * *

_**Santanna Cromms, District Eight**_

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be**_** My Chemical Romance.**_

**Song: **_**Helena**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. Deaths will be notified there.**

* * *

**I am terribly sorry to the creators that have lost their tributes, I do hope that you will stick around to see the progression of the story. If not then that is okay too and I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Characters were killed based on personality, storyline and of course whether or not their creator reviewed. Hopefully no hard feelings if your character is gone.**

* * *

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**Do you see any plots developing? Any ideas for what might happen in future chapters?**_

* * *

**Look at me, on time again! Someone call the press xD. Anyway, this chapter didn't have much in it besides me kind of just setting up plots and showing a bit of the arena and its twists that are to come later. More action should begin within the next few chapters, of that I can assure you!**

**In other news, I have just posted the prologue for my newest SYOT to begin after the completion of _Painted Crimson_ called _Streets I Know. _I have only a few spots left (all male) but I hope all of you will check it out!**

**Until next week!**


	11. See Me Smile

**The Only Hope For Me Is You by My Chemical Romance**

_And though you can see me smile  
I still think of the guns they sell._

* * *

**Soren Lyte, 16, District Four**

"We don't have enough supplies to care for anyone else and you know that," I hear a male voice state amidst a sea of visual blackness. He sounds quite angry as far as I can tell. I don't recognize the voice at all, but I can tell that it is male, probably about my age by the sound of it.

"Maybe he has food," a girl answers the boy, another voice I just cannot remember. "We can't just leave him to die like this."

"He will probably die no m atter what we do," says the boy.

"Well we have to at least try," the girl says in response.

I feel a heavy pressure on my arm and I grunt along with the pain it produces. Whatever is holding my arm does not relent even as I force my body to struggle against it. My free arm flies out and hits something fleshy, but I think the action tires me out more that it likely hurt the other person. I try to open my eyes but just a fraction of a second later I regret it, the light penetrating my eyes like a thousand Peacekeeper laser guns.

"He's awake," a new voice calls, this one certainly male as well. I hear the crunch of ice and snow under heavy boots as I presume the other two have rushed up to join the new voice. When my eyes slowly squint open further I can see three faces peering down at me, all three beet-red from the cold. I move my head painfully towards the arm I can still feel pressure on and my eyes follow a gloved hand up to the face of a boy I would guess to be around my age or possibly a bit younger. He has shaggy brown hair that is half covered by a hood and kind hazel eyes that don't move from the work he seems to be doing on me.

"Don't move too much," he tells me when he notices me starring out of the corner of his eye, not allowing his eyes to move from his focus of tying a black piece of fabric around my arm. "I know it probably hurts but it will be over sooner if you don't squirm."

I nod painfully and clench my teeth as the wrapping gets tighter and tighter. I don't let myself look at it, instead focusing my attention on the other two bodies that have already moved away from me and my makeshift doctor. They seem to be arguing about something, but unfortunately in whispers so I am unable to hear what they are saying to each other.

"They're talking about you," the boy whispers. "In case you're wondering."

"I was," I admit quietly. After a second I realize that it would probably be polite to at least know the names of the people I have somehow come into contact with. Probably better than calling them "girl" and "boy". "I'm Soren, District Four. Can I ask who you are?"

"Remy, from the Capitol."

At that I look a little bit closer at the boy. I never really paid any attention to the Capitol tributes besides the girl, Natalya I think was her name? She was kind of hard to ignore, but I never notices her partner, this boy. I find it hard to believe that he could be from the Capitol. We have always kind of been taught that the Capitol was to blame for all of our problems and, while we have been forced to make amends with the citizens and promote peace, that Katniss Everdeen was truly our savior. He doesn`t seem like the strange colored monsters I learned about and saw on television, his appearance is rather plain even by District Four standards.

"My parents don't believe in alterations or flamboyant dress, if that's what you're trying to ask," he says with a slight curl of his lips. His eyes still never move from tending to my arm, but at least now he seems less business and friendlier. It seemed to me before that he was the one with all the skills in this group, but he just seems too shy and understated. I think that is what I like about him, though.

"I-I, well, I," I stutter, feeling my cheeks heat up at the fact that he could tell exactly what I had been thinking. "Sorry, Remy."

"Don't worry about it. I've gotten used to the curious stares from most other tributes. If you don't mind me saying so, I find the fishing district to be far more interesting," he grins with one last tug at each end of the fabric. "I find it intriguing that you are the only district that held the same Mayor even through the Mockingjay Rebellion."

"I didn't know that," I admit and it is true, I didn't. I wonder for a split second how a kid from the Capitol could have known that when I, a citizen of the very district he'd been talking about, did not. I hear a rumble from above and suddenly a large spike of ice throws itself down at us, landing right between the flesh of my injured arm and Remy's leg. Both of us look up at each other with wide eyes, remembrance hitting us hard and fast. They can hear every word we say, this is merely a warning to say nothing that they wouldn't want the young ears of Panem to hear or the old ears to ponder.

"We've decided you can stay," I hear a voice come from behind me and, with a helping hand from Remy, I pry myself up painfully and turn to face the other boy who motions back with his thumb to the girl standing with him. "For now at least, you can thank her, Four"

"Thanks," I say with a humble nod. "I'll do what I can to help out."

"Not until you're better you won't," Remy says quickly. "Your wound is too fresh, straining it could reopen the sealing I've made."

"He'll do something," the other boy says and I nod once more, not wanting to upset the already precarious position I seem to have found my way into. "Don't think you're just going to sit around and let us do all the work for even a second."

* * *

**Grace Willow, 17, District Five**

I am comfortable in my shadows, there is nothing more I think I could ever need. I was smart, I did not go into that big fight like everyone else. I knew I could not win had I chose to do so. Instead, I fought my own battle of patience and timing, and I won. I know that I can win so long as I fight the right way. So long as I fight _my _way.

I now have three backpacks, small as they might be, as well as two of those strange looking wrapped packages tied with tight ropes. I took the time last night to organize all my new belongings into just two bags, throwing the other into the one least full just in case I might need it for some reason later. I have enough food to likely feed myself for a good while, several empty bottles for water storage, two extra pairs of gloves, three sets of matches, and these weird glasses that wrap all the way around my face. Also one short knife that I have pinned to my belt, just in case.

There is no need for me to do anything more, I considered even staying with my friends in the giant golden horn where the Hunger Games began. Logic won out in that battle, the fact that the space was far too open and likely visible from most places in the arena. Instead I opted to settle myself into a little crevice cut out of the ice, no more than a tunnel or two away from the starting area. It is just barely big enough for me to squeeze into, but at least it is mostly hidden. Kind of dark too, which I find comforting and familiar. I have realized that if I close my eyes and bury my face into the collar of my uniform I can almost pretend that I am back at home in my bed. I can almost hear the soft snoring that always came from my parents' room when they finally would decide to go to sleep.

My ears perk up as I open my eyes and realize that the sound I had thought to be a formulated imitation by my mind of the sounds of home did not cease. I hold my breath, straining my ears to listen so hard I almost think I can hear my own heart beating. It's just like I had thought, the noise is still there, and if I'm not mistaken it's getting louder. I feel the ground rumble beneath my body and I go into panic as the noise fills my ears, louder and louder, closer and closer; the rumbling beneath me getting worse and worse. I try and stand up, a hard bump on the top of my head quickly reminding me that I am in a very small space.

_Trapped._

This is the first word that I can interpret in my mind as I feel my body shake with the ice beneath me. I roll over onto my hands and knees, crawling like an infant towards the tiny exit I had scarcely noticed after leaving the Cornucopia. I can feel tears freezing onto my cheeks as I squeeze through the ice ring, panic filling me as I feel the ground beneath me begin to give way. Suddenly my feet are suspended in just air and I reach out for something to hold onto, a scream bubbling in my throat and barely seeing through the liquid in my eyes.

I'm holding on my upper body, my feet sprawling out under me, searching desperately for something to stand on and coming up with nothing. I pull and pull, using every ounce of strength I can give up to trying to get myself fully onto the ledge. It only takes another very audible crack to give me enough motivation to throw myself up, just as another large chunk of ice falls off into white nothingness.

My chest heaves as I stare down at the hold that was once my little haven. My throat is dry and my muscles wind quickly down from the adrenaline, leaving me with sharp pains that seem to come from everywhere. I drop to my knees in front of the hole and sob, the truth of what has happened really hitting me for the first time. All of my supplies were in there, everything that I thought I would be able to survive on was taken from me so quickly.

What am I supposed to do now?

Just then, I feel something sharp press itself into my thigh and I look down to see the short knife in my belt gleaming in the glowing light. Something like relief hits me, the notion that I had not lost everything giving me a kind of comfort. It's not much, not even in the hands of someone experienced which I am most definitely not, but at least I have something. Finally something that is mine, that has yet to be taken from me. I won't let anything else go; not over my dead body. That I promise myself.

* * *

**Kor Epson, 18, District Ten**

I can feel a pair of eyes burrowing into the thick skin of my back and I turn around only to lock eyes with my ally, Brennen. I breathe a heavy sigh of relief and throw him a quick smile before returning to my duty of distributing supplies. We only managed to grab two backpacks for the three of us from the Bloodbath, but Brennen has insisted that he will carry enough supplies for both himself and Natalya so I guess it all works out. As long as we ensure that everyone has a fair amount, I am happy to let him carry the heavier load as long as he will continue to volunteer to do so.

"Make sure to split up the supplies evenly, Ten," Brennen tells me quietly, his head whipping around as though someone besides me might hear him. "Remember, killing someone for ripping you off isn't illegal in here. Don't slip up."

"My name is Kor, and if you don't mind me saying so I would much rather be called that than 'Ten'," I say calmly, choosing not to address the obvious threat within his comment for fair confidence that he has enough morality still in him not to kill his own ally.

"Funny guy, are you now?" He says with his face turning a bright red color that stands out comically against his grey uniform. He stands and I do also, feeling the tension within him building and wanting to be in the proper position to defend myself.

"What's the matter, Ten? Cat got your tongue? Think you're too good to talk to little old me, don't you?" He says teasingly, clearly trying his best to provoke me. I swallow thickly and concentrate on keeping my body still and my voice steady. I will not let him get to me, no matter what he thinks I am going to keep control of my own actions. I'm not so oblivious that I do not believe that there will come a point very soon where I will not be able to stop myself from breaking. It was never my plan to avoid the inevitable. I only want to delay this for as long as possible, because this is me and being broken is not something that I am.

I am whole, I am strong.

"I believe I have asked this already, my name is Kor and I would prefer to be called that if you don't mind," I say evenly. "I am not trying to anger you and I would suggest we get along at least a while longer. I can't imagine three loners would make it further than a strong trio."

"That's where you're wrong," he says, his eyes widening and a cattish grin taking over his face. "If we split, she'll come with me. She isn't stupid she knows I can protect her and that you never could lay a finger on anyone even if they were ripping her apart by their teeth. If we leave, you're dead meat walking. That is if I don't kill you myself first. "

I don't respond to this, my eyes instead focusing as Natalya comes around the corner towards us. My smile must give away what I have seen because Brennen turns around, the creepy smile flying off his lips as quickly as it had come. She greets us happily and wraps herself into Brennen's arms. I can't help but feel a pang of envy as he winks back at me knowingly. I don't even feel that way about her, but just the thought that he thinks she is wrapped up over his finger makes me almost want that for myself. I try and ignore it, though, returning her kind greeting with soft words.

Brennen turns Natalya towards him and I twirl around, not wanting to see any further affection from the two for fear of my own sanity. Just as I begin to walk in the opposite direction to recollect the bags I had been working on when I had been so rudely interrupted, something rushes past me so quickly that I do not even see what it might be until I hear a feminine scream.

I turn to see Natalya being tackled to the ground by another girl, this one noticeably bigger and likely older than Natalya. I don't even have time to react, the girl's screeching cries for someone named "Rambin" shocking me into immobility, her fists and feet kicking and punching at Natalya's fragile body. Brennen seems to have been affected in the same way, because neither of us move until the screams of our ally stop altogether. Before the attacker can even get to her feet, Brennen has sent a thin sword through her chest and she collapses on the other end of it to the sound of two cannons.

The look on Brennen's face is grim and, if I am not mistaken, kind of sad. I take another look at the girl now lying in a pool of blood emanating from the hole in her chest, and that is when I put the pieces together. It's Brennen's district partner, that strange girl that no one seemed to be able to get close enough to talk to. The silence is deafening and I ask the only thing I can think to.

"Who's Rambin?"

"I don't know, I think he is a family member. She used to mumble that in her sleep back in the Capitol, loud enough so I could hear her through the walls," he says sadly, eyes orbiting between the two girls lying with eyes empty and bodies mutilated. One as beautiful as the sun and the other more mysterious that the dark side of the moon.

* * *

**Obsidian Nixon, 17, District One**

"I want to keep moving," Cecilia suddenly blurts out, removing herself from the crevice in my arm that she had taken to crying in since after I had rescued her from that brute of a boy from District Eleven. My face must have shown my utter surprise at her sudden interest in moving on because her face droops slightly and her thin, pink lips tighten into a sweet smile. "Please?"

I melt like putty in her fragile, little hands. Nodding my head, I begin gathering our meager belongings into the backpack that I had grabbed for us. Not much is contained within it besides a few bags of some kind of grain mix, several sticks of jerky, and a water bottle big enough to hold a decent amount of water. It is heat resistant too, which I found rather strange seeing as this entire place is made completely of ice and snow. Not exactly beneficial to us to have anything heat resistant.

Cecilia starts to push herself up and I immediately grab her hand and slowly raise her to her feet. She gives me a quizzical look and I return it with a bright smile. It's strange, really, how someone as beautiful as Cecilia isn't used to being cared for like this. It makes me wonder who she could have been hanging around with, and why she never thought to leave them for someone who would care for her and appreciate her loveliness; someone like _me. _

She had probably seen me walking around the district at least once or twice in her lifetime. I wish I knew what had prevented her from introducing herself before fate brought us together. I know for certain that if I had ever seen her just strolling by that I would have. It is impossible to ignore someone who just demands your attention.

"Which way do you want to go?" Cecilia asks once we reach a fork in the tunnels. I stare down each one in turn, looking for any obvious visible threats or hazards. When my naked eyes can catch nothing particularly suspicious in either I opt to choose the one with the most light coming from it. Both of them are near certain to house some kind of threat, but I would much rather protect Cecilia from things I can see rather than be blind to them.

"This one looks safer for you," I tell her, pointing towards the lighter tunnel. She pulls a face at my choice and I shrug innocently, wondering what I have said wrong.

"Don't choose based on me," Cecilia mutters. "I can handle myself just fine, thank you."

"You needn't worry about that, though," I persist, placing a hand on her fair cheek that makes her shy away almost instantly and causes me to smile. "I'm here to protect you so you don't have to."

She says nothing more and we continue walking into the brighter tunnel just as I had suggested. Roughly ten or more minutes of walking goes by in slow silence and I begin to have to squint my eyes, the light boring into them as if I were staring directly into the midday sun. I notice Cecilia bring her palm up to shield her eyes and I consider telling her that we should head back the way we came and choosing the dimmer tunnel just to save her from much more of this discomfort. It would be at least a ten minute walk back, though, and I don't want to set our progression back for no reason if the tunnel does end soon. So we press onward.

I try and walk directly in front of Cecilia, so that my body might shield her pretty eyes from some of the incredible light rays, but she won't have it. Instead she deliberately walks almost completely beside me. I consider telling her that I am only trying to make this whole thing easier for her but on recollection of her previous protests I decide not to risk stressing her out any further.

As we continue on I see that the generous amount of light that has been assaulting us for some time now is coming from a somewhere up ahead where I can see a bright circle that grows as we tread closer. I ensure that I am positioned at least somewhat in front of Cecilia's small frame to protect her if need be. The light makes me very uneasy and I once more regret my tunnel choice.

I take the first step into the glowing light circle, my eyes adjusting so that I can see that the ice seems to have simply melted away at this very point. Once I am through, I can see that I was mistaken, the ice has not melted at this part it simply does not exist here. I remember the exposed tunnels I saw looking up from the Bloodbath area and I realize that I am now on one of them. My eyes attempt to progress downwards to see how far up we are but my head suddenly feels light and I grab the one wall beside me to steady myself.

We're pretty high up I would say.

I hear the crunch of Cecilia's boots as she follows me out onto the ledge and I swallow the urge to tell her to head back. I can't let her think I am doubting my own choices, I want her to be comfortable with my decision and to have no reason to question me at any time. My feet edge out as the ledge becomes smaller and smaller, within a few metres becoming no thicker than my torso. My head pounds and my knees shake but I continue, for Cecilia.

I can't let her think for even a second that I am afraid, even when it might possibly be the truth.

* * *

**Rict Green, 18, District Seven**

It gets dark so fast here, almost as if in one minute the light is so focused that even the snow seems to radiate and then the next you are plunged into deep and utter nothingness. The only thing that keeps me from slipping and tripping over the endless obstacles is the eerie glowing light that seems to radiate from the walls of ice on either side of me. I touch my hand against it, subconsciously wishing for it to emit some kind of heat. It doesn't and I am left with the same cold feeling I have lived with for as long as I can seem to remember, and hidden away for just as long.

I don't remember the time that I was happy, though both my parents insist on reminding me every other day for fear that I will feel the way they never knew I was already feeling. They tell me stories so many times a week when I decide to come home straight from school instead of going out somewhere else. They tell me about the times when I would go outside everyday and play with Daisy, about how much fun we had and all the days that she would sing me to sleep or wake me gently every morning that my parents had to work early or were out late. All these things I can't remember that were supposed to shape my life. Maybe that was the plan, but I think I should have some kind of option in that, right? It was my life, or I guess is for now.

I'm not dead yet, I remind myself and it feels as familiar as breathing. I'm not scared by it either, maybe a part of me wants to join her in wherever it is that people go after they kick the bucket. It might be curiosity, but I think it's more the yearning for the sister that my parents insisted I was so lucky to have had for the time I did. I think I want to join her sooner rather than later, does that make me strange; wrong?

Possibly.

I would never have even remembered Daisy if it wasn't for the constant reminders of how fortunate I was to be related to her. I have never had that in my life, as far as my memory's tendrils can reach to see, and if they would have left it be I would not have known what I was missing. I do know, thanks to them though I could never truly blame them, and I want it for myself. I want the sister I never really knew. I want to know the beautiful sound of her song voice. I want to feel her gentle hands guide mine to tend the gardens with her. I want to learn from her, I want to be good, I want to be the son that I think my family wants me to be.

They cannot have a perfect daughter, and because they could never let go of that I have missed my chance to be their perfect son. I can pretend, though. That has always been something that came as easy to me as taking one breath after the other. When my parents told me old stories of the daughter they once knew, I could never bring myself to tell them I had no recollection of the girl they so loved. I lied and it stuck. They never knew I did not remember, so perhaps it is no one's fault but mine that I yearn for a girl I don't recall knowing.

I lie because it is easier, but maybe I don't need things to be easier anymore. Killing Santanna was easy, though I don't know why. I wanted it to be hard, I wanted my hand to shake when I lifted the weapon towards her and I wanted my lips to cry her name after she had fallen. It was too easy, does that mean I am already letting go or does that mean something else entirely.

Only the crunch of my own footsteps breaks into my mind through heavy thoughts as I round the corner towards the only direction I know how to go to; up. It's so automatic now, even after such a short period of time. The white, the cold, the cannon sounds that blast through the arena every once in a while; none of it phases me anymore. It's strange to think what a person can truly get used to if put into the right circumstances.

A sound beside my boots cuts through my minds' endless train and I stop mid step. My ears strain to decode the noise. Curiosity overcomes me when I hear nothing and I step forward a few steps before peering around the icy corner. Almost as soon as my head pokes around I retreat and pull myself against the wall. Not to cower in fear or terror, but to hide the smile that has for some reason overgrown on my lips.

* * *

_**Invidius Regium, District Two**_

_**Natalya Marrion, Capitol**_

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be**_** My Chemical Romance.**_

**Song: **_**The Only Hope For Me Is You**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. Deaths will be notified there.**

* * *

**I am terribly sorry to the creators that have lost their tributes, I do hope that you will stick around to see the progression of the story. If not then that is okay too and I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Characters were killed based on personality, storyline and of course whether or not their creator reviewed. Hopefully no hard feelings if your character is gone. **

**I am so sorry Jake, I adored Natalya but as plot lines go I would say hers was pretty much over. I hope you liked what I did with her, because she was so very perfect :')**

* * *

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**Which alliances do you see that could be destined to fall soon? **_

_**Who do you think Rict has found, hm?**_

* * *

**Yeah I am still on time, go me! Also, to any of you that might be interested I still have two male spots open for my next SYOT, **_**Streets I Know. **_**Hopefully a couple of you will go over and check it out :D**

**That is all, until next week! **


	12. Catch Me

**Ghost of You by My Chemical Romance**

_And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me,  
For all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me._

* * *

**Veralidaine Vantos, 18, District Ten**

I so wish I could have seen the looks on the faces of the Gamemakers right about now. I don't think even they are quite prepared to deal with a tribute like me, not by a long shot. I wonder how they would react if someone told them that I was only just getting started. That the plans I have within my mind of the destruction I could cause in here is untouchable by their feeble minds. It was more than a likely possibility that I would be dead and buried by the end of the week, but I'm sure that I'm not the only tribute to ever want to go out with a bang. There is no way in hell that I am about to succumb to this supposed pressure. I would be stupid to say that I do not think that sooner or later the Gamemakers will figure out a way to kill me. Since I have already come to terms with this likelihood, nothing can stop me except death.

I make one final carve in the ice with the tip of my long knife, one foot reaching out onto the thinner part of the ledge to get the best angle. I hear the ice let out a small, almost inaudible crack and I freeze up for a moment. When nothing further happens, no sound nor movement from beneath me, and I am not sent sprawling down the side of the arena to my death I allow myself a snide smile. This isn't the first warning I have been given and I am positive that it will not be my last, but so long as I can be certain it is only the Gamemakers and not the arena crumbling under me I can feel safe. Well, I guess safe is a relative term in this kind of place.

I shimmy myself back to the opening of the nearest tunnel and throw a smile back towards my beautiful piece of art. How will Panem's finest like that little piece of work, eh? I can only dream of the awe-filled expressions. I slip back into the tunnel and collect my backpack from the pile of white in which I had left it, swinging it onto my shoulder all the while wondering what else in this place looks fun for me to destroy.

Nothing catches my eye within my immediate spectrum and I decide to move on. I'm certain that I am far ahead of at least most of the other tributes seeing as I was the first one to leave the Bloodbath. I would bet that most of the others, especially those caught in alliances, stayed the night in the core of the arena. I had had enough adrenaline to keep me going for long hours into the night, to be perfectly honest I am not even sure if I slept at all that night. I just kept moving. None of us really know where we are supposed to do in these tunnels of ice but I have already come to my own conclusion in a fairly short amount of time. They want us to go up, hence the enflamed sunlight from above us right after we were launched. Maybe, just this one time, I will do what the Gamemakers want. It's not like there is truly anywhere else I can go anyway.

I reach a steep set of steps that wind around a corner that I cannot quite see the end of from here. After a minute or so of staring up the stairs I shake my head and silently scold myself. What is there to be afraid of in here? Unfortunately the answer to that question only makes my throat go dry and my stomach twist into knots. The real question I should probably be asking myself is what in here should I not be afraid of.

I remember the early days in the Capitol with Anine, before eternal hate had set in between us that is. She sat with Kor and I and explained everything her wise, old head could remember about the Hunger Games. By her descriptions, they usually had taken place in some kind of landscape. I almost wonder what my hard headed escort would have to say about this place which is so very different from what she seems to remember. For one, the Gamemakers seems to be leading us in one particular direction. That was never in her little explanation. The other thing is the twists; Anine mentioned to us that there never seemed to be an ending supply of traps and mutts in every arena she can recall.

I am unsure whether or not to feel lucky that I have yet to come across either. It could mean one of two things; either that this year the Gamemakers are too unseasoned to have all these things ready or, the more likely option, that I have just been fortunate enough not to have had a run-in with one yet. I can't imagine that kind of luck remaining with me forever, though.

Almost as if the Gamemakers had clued right in to my thoughts I hear a creak of ice underfoot as I continue climbing up the stairs. What's odd, though, is that the sound is not coming from under my own boots which remain strangely silent. I swallow thickly and hurry just that little bit faster, my feet stepping more quickly up the icy staircase. I don't realize how fast I truly am going until one missed step sends me flying back down the way I had come. Landing right at the feet of a tall girl with blonde, stringy hair peeking out from under her hood.

"Well hello there," I say as soon as the air returns to my lungs. The girl stiffens and takes two steps away from me, allowing me enough room to jump to my feet to face her properly. I consider taking out my knife to ensure she doesn't try and attack me but after searching both her hands I can see she has no visible weapons. Only one lone backpack that is covered in a thin dusting of snow on one side.

The girl appears not to know what to say and I smile despite myself. People get so uncomfortable so very easily, it's almost amusing. No wait, it is amusing not almost is. "Well? I may ask well know the name of the person I almost ran over."

"J-Juniper," she says so softly that I have to strain my ears to hear her. "And y-you are?"

"Why would I tell you that, Juni?" I ask with a wink.

She straightens once more. "I asked, is that not reason enough?"

I laugh heartily and I even see her lips start to curl upwards as tears blur my eyes. I think I like this girl, yes I think so. Maybe not all alliances are made to break. If I'm going to stuck in this place for a few more days I might as well get myself some company. Especially welcome from a girl with at least a little hint of a backbone. "Veralidaine, if you must know."

* * *

**Brennen Dwyloe, 17, District Two**

I know why Invidius killed her. The screaming of a boy's name in the silence of the night back while we stayed in the Capitol now makes sense to me. The look of adoration that Invidius saved solely for me, with sharp eyes cutting through everyone between us. Everything has become painfully clear to me; my district partner thought she was in love with me.

We were never together for much more than a could minutes in total before the Games began, both of us preferring on the train to escape into our own worlds of thought as reality sank in. During training and the nights that followed it was no better. Invidius always took meals by herself in her room and refused to leave its solitude until the following morning, including for any supposedly mandatory newscasts. I usually stayed out of her way since that was far easier for me. She reminded me too much of home.

So the only glimpses of each other that we would have had would have been during training, in hallway passages, and maybe on any of the television programs if she had even bothered to watch any. I knew who she was, but I was always in the right frame of mind despite being possibly a little bit shaken up from events. I know it is probably terrible to think ill of the dead, but she never seemed to be all there. Like there was something else she was always thinking about or looking at. Or rather someone else, I suppose.

Was it possible she was thinking about this Rambin boy that entire time?

If so then did her mind grow so delirious with this sole concentration that just to settle her interior worry it created her lover's face on another body? The mind is an amazing and complex entity, but even so I can't seem to be able to think this feat possible. To miss someone so much that you unknowingly create another body for them? Impossible, right? I wonder, though, what that would be like to love someone with enough passion that she would kill another girl that seemingly tried to take her place.

I've never known love like that and I have yet to yearn for it until now. Now I find myself in envy of the district partner I never really tried to know. The girl who had the capacity to love one person even in indefinite separation with all the strength as if he had been there with her anyway.

"How-why do you think she did it?" Kor stumbles over the world with a crack in his voice so wide that I nearly pull him into a hug to comfort him. He truly cared about Natalya, where as I had all but forgotten about her fate in favour of pondering Invidius' mind and actions. Something about Kor's posture tells me that he is not just merely missing her for himself or wanting her to resurrect again for selfish reasons like lust. It's almost like he is trying to come to terms with the battered body that claws had taken away being a real person.

"That's what we are supposed to do in here," I say after a moment, subconsciously deciding to keep the secret about my district partner hidden away from both Kor and the cameras. "Does she really need a reason?"

"But she killed her," Kor croaks. "She took a life away just like that, and so did _you." _

A lump of guilt forms in my throat as he speaks the accusations out loud. I had not even had time to really understand that this was what I had done. The act had been purely instincts, but Kor is right nonetheless. It was my own hand that stopped my district partner's passionate heart from beating.

I bury my face in my hands, sinking down to the floor until an icy chill runs up my spine from the snow. Something warm reaches down to gently touch my shoulder and I wince. I know it has to be Kor, either him or someone else with the stupidity to comfort me before they decide to kill me. At this point I'm not even sure if I truly care which one it is. No matter how much I thought I hated him, I cannot push away the reality that he is one hundred percent correct. One look up at his kind, confused eyes makes me envy him once more. Only this time for a completely different reason.

Why is it that no matter what I try and do with the best of intentions in my heart, this guy always somehow manages to come out of everything looking cleaner than I do? What's worse is that I can't even hate him for it. Hating someone because they are trying to steal the attention of a girl you adore is perfectly understandable. But hating someone just because they have all the traits you wish you were able to track down in yourself. How could I despise someone who is exactly who I wish I was?

* * *

**Vienna Noble, 16, District Three**

"Can I get a word?" I ask quietly, one hand tapping on Remy's shoulder and motioning to the far corner of our little cave. He nods calmly and gives a gesture to tell Soren that he will be right back. I'm not even sure whether or not he saw him because his eyes don't move from the ceiling. Remy leads me away without so much as a backward glance.

"Yes?" Remy asks nervously after a long moment of us just kind of looking at each other. I laugh softly, chiding myself for forgetting that I was the one that has asked to speak with him.

"Sorry," I say quickly before my face takes on a grimmer look. "How is he?"

"That's all you needed?" he chuckles to himself. "You should have just asked him."

"I wanted to hear it from you; you seem to better know what is going on with him than he does sometimes," I say sheepishly. "Also I saw you guys talking for the last little bit and I was wondering if he said anything about what happened to him."

"Not a word and I never asked," he tells me with a sad smile, much to my own disappointment. "But he does seem to be doing better; he told me he wants to try sitting up as soon as I'm ready but I don't think that's a good idea quite yet."

"So he can't even walk?"

The voice from behind us makes us both jump and before I even turn around I have a good idea of who it is. Unsurprisingly Zander eyes both of us with a strange intensity that I didn't know his small form was capable of. I catch his gaze and stare back at him with unmoving eyes, answering the question on his face without even uttering a single word.

"No I don't think so," Remy mutters under his breath with all certainty gone from his voice.

"So what you're saying is that as long as we let Four stay with us we are basically stuck here. In a perfect position to be ambushed and with only roughly enough food to last us four days," Zander huffs. I raise my eyebrows in a look of warning. I'm not leaving anyone behind, and I know that is what he is trying to get us to do with Soren once again. He survived the night and that is sign enough for both Remy and I that he is supposed to be here with us. Would Zander insist the same abandonment of me had it been me who'd ended up with an arm's length wound on my side?

"We're not leaving him," I growl.

"I never said that we were, I was merely stating some facts," he says flatly. "But what a fine suggestion if I may say so."

"Go...do whatever, Remy," Zander says without even a glance in his direction; only waving him away with one swift motion of his hand. I watch Remy nod lamely out of the corner of my eye before scurrying back over to where we left Soren. It`s not until Zander can be sure that Remy is completely out of earshot that he finally speaks again. `He`s not our problem, Vi. If you insist that he needs help then leave Remy here with him. Not like the little medic-in-training will object, the two of them seem content in their damned friendship. We actually have a chance, Vi."

I reach out and slap him as hard as I can before my mind even processes what I am doing. "Don't you dare say that again. I'm not leaving them, they'll die."

"Don't you get it? That's the point!" He hisses with one hand reaching up to rub the red mark my hand has made on his right cheek. He brings his face closer to mine as his voice goes further below a whisper, warm breath puffing over my skin. "None of us are supposed to care about each other. If he can't even move he is going to die and we should be glad. Only one can win so why do you even let yourself care about two people you only just met? You won't be a martyr for dying along with them, you'll only be stupid."

"Why do you care if I leave with you then? If I'm only going to die with them for staying behind then shouldn't that make you happy? One less person who honestly wouldn't object to seeing your name written in ice!" I punctuate my point by pushing him into the wall behind him as hard as I can. He doesn't push me back as I had expected him to and in the pause of action and the new silence I finally feel the frozen tears leaking down my cheeks.

"Do you remember what I said in the interviews?" He asks me and I can hear the hurt in his voice, so prominent that I almost wish to take back everything I had said. But I can't because I meant every word of it.

I nod and this time it's my voice that cracks. "You only want me alive to use me for some publicity for yourself?"

"I never said it wasn't true," he breathes. "What I said I mean, not the publicity thing."

I'm unsure what to say to that and so I say nothing. My lips open and close as if to say something but no words are able to escape. I want to tell him how much that would have meant to me to know and yet how right now I only can find the emotion to slap him amidst the feelings I see swirling around me. His eyes no longer meet mine now and I can almost cut the tension with a knife. I know I should say something, but there are no words to tell him how much I both want to kill him, and _kiss_ him.

* * *

**Heath Carlisle, 17, District Nine**

"Do you mind if I rest?"

I look over to see that girl, Sheria, looking at me with tired eyes. I shrug and say nothing else. I don't understand why she felt compelled to ask me at all. It's not as if my saying that I disallow her to sleep is going to stop her body from eventually shutting itself down for a few hours.

She smiles gratefully at me and lays her arms down to rest her head on. I stare at her for a few moments as she closes her eyes and moves around to get into the most comfortable position. Sleep was always something odd in my eyes. I never quite understood why it was needed until I could see the peace that overcame the person's body as their head filled with dreamy thoughts. That was when I started to comprehend the need. I guess everyone needs a break from everyone else, that is something I can fully understand, and the only way for us to fully do that is to deaden ourselves to the world around us.

It doesn't make sense, and yet does at the same time.

For every time I have felt the slightest sense of happiness, there have been a dozen more in which I have felt nothing but sorrow and hatred. Not just hatred for the people that torment me and tell me that I only misbehave because I am a terrible person and will never do any good until I finally die. I hated myself on some of those nights where I would pound on the walls of my closet bedroom screaming out as my mother silently placed a lock on my door to prevent me from harming anyone past myself. It isn't even that she didn't care about me, it was that after a certain age I was just too strong for her to even try to control anymore. I knew that was what she was trying to do, protect other people so that the rest of the population might finally stop tormenting her and my sisters for having a horrible son and brother like me.

It was hard to understand myself sometimes. I never meant to be like this, sometimes subdued on a good day and then the next angry beyond belief but when I thought about it really not mad at anything in particular. I didn't make sense, but how was I supposed to know that? I never could be able to stop myself from going off into a fit of rage at any given moment. Not until that night or the next few after while I sat on my bed in a locked room and saw how much I didn't even recognize myself.

If I really thought about it I would realize that all three of them were terrified of me; my two younger sisters and even my own mother. My father left all of us after Glenna was born to be with another woman. He told us all before he left that he wanted to be with the woman he truly loved and that he was sorry, but I could feel inside me that I had had some part in his decision. Who wants to deal with a dysfunctional family when you can just run away like a coward and try again?

I can feel my hands shaking as I bring them up to my cheeks. I have to calm down, I try telling myself. That was what the doctors that my mother sometimes brought me to had always told me. They said I had some kind of social disorder but I don't know what that means. As long as I stay calm I can pass for any other teenager. I try the same exercise that the doctors would tell me when I was younger, an attempt to calm myself that became hit and miss in terms of effectiveness.

_One, two, three..._

I can feel my shoulders still shaking as I close my eyes and continue counting to myself. I don't know if I am talking out loud or not and it doesn't matter very much to me either way. My hands are still pressed into fists and I force myself to release them slowly, to the beat of the calming numbers.

_Four, five, six, seven..._

I take breaths at each of the numbers, in and out, in and out. I don't even understand why my body suddenly tenses up or why I feel this overwhelming sense to lash out at something. I concentrate only on the numbers, just like the doctors used to tell me as a young child.

_Eight, nine..._

My shoulders sag for a moment but I can already tell it isn't working this time. The anger boils in my blood and my fingertips dig into the thick ice so hard that I can feel warmth flowing over the near-numbness of my hands. I want to wrap them around something but there is nothing but the sleeping form of my own ally. The only person I have vowed to never harm. I will keep this promise, I couldn't live with myself if I harmed her and this thought peeks through the rage I am feeling. I will not harm her.

_Ten-_

Ice cold hands wrap around my neck and before I even have a chance to react something moves across my throat and I feel nothing. No rage, no guilt; nothing. Blackness consumes me and I am taken by the feeling of hopelessness that I will never be able to understand what my own heart is feeling. The coldness is lifted and nothing else remains but black. A darkness so complete that somehow I know I will never again see light.

* * *

**Sheria Maurell, 18, District Nine**

I am awoken by the sound of a cannon and my eyelids fly open in fear. I don't think I will ever become accustomed to that sound, no matter how many times I hear it. My head flies to one side and the first thing I see is red. _Blood_ and the source being the throat of my district partner and ally. I scream out his name before I realize what I am doing and even once a frozen hand clasps itself around my mouth I continue, though now the screams are nothing more than muffled words.

I bite the hand in front of me as hard as I can, only vaguely hearing the masculine screams between the palpitations of my heart. With all of my strength I swing my body around and hit the boy kneeling behind me with the brunt of each elbow. He instinctively brings his hands up to his nose where my elbow connected, one hand already slowly dripping with blood and now mixing with the blood rushing from his nose. He takes his good hand away from his face and punches me beneath my jaw sending me spinning backward with stars in my eyes. Numbness quickly takes over the lower half of my face and I try and stop the screams that erupt in my throat along with the whimpers of pain.

He throws himself on top of me and I squirm beneath his weight but to no avail. My heart rushes and I can think of nothing but how hard it is becoming to keep breathing. Fuzziness develops in the corners of my eyes as he throws punch after punch at my defenceless body. I cry out and I think that locks my jaw back into place because I feel the same rush of pain all over again.

My hands fly out beside me looking for anything to grab hold of. I just need to get him off of me, that is all I can think of right now is removing this weight from my chest as the breaths coming from my lips become farther and farther between. If he doesn't kill me with his fists he'll suffocate me. I feel the overwhelming realisation come over me that I am going to die.

A new spark of energy comes to me as my hand grabs something, until I realize that it is my dead ally whose blood mixes with my bruises. I try and cry out as pain explodes near my stomach and I come to the conclusion that the boy must have broken one or more of my ribs. I barely feel the metal touch my fingers until drops of blood begin to coat them. I'm appalled at first and then thankful. I didn't know that Heath had even carried a weapon, but now I cannot be more glad that he had. It might just be the thing to save me.

I come to some understanding amidst my confusion that the punches have stopped coming and I no longer feel any new pains coming onto my body. I try and sit up but I find no strength in me to do so. I cuddle the thin dagger close to me and strain my eyes towards my attacker who rises slightly from me. I take in a long breath and feel my lungs fill with chilly air to my own relief.

It's the glint of silver from above me that brings me back to the reality of what is happening. The black handled axe is upon me in seconds, rushing closer and closer seemingly in slow motion. Somewhere in that time I scream, and before I feel the impact I brace myself for another scream joins mine in the thick air. Somehow familiar and distant at the same time.

Then the pain comes.

Nothing like I have ever felt before, all of it centered around my stomach and its intensity causing every other ache and cry in my body to go silent. I become aware that the weight has been lifted from upon me and my blurring eyes catch wind of my attacker running away with blood flowing between his fingertips. I don't know where it comes from but within my confusion I manage to smile. I'm not completely useless and I didn't go down as easily as everyone thought I would. Maybe I'm not as strong as him or as Heath or as anyone else but I can still be a fighter. No one can take that away ever again.

_District Seven._

That thought enters my mind within the swirl of black and memories. The boy that I saw standing above me with an axe clasped in both hands, it was Seven. I don't know why that matters to me at all as the pain in my stomach causes me to fade in and out of consciousness as it fluctuates. My eyelids flutter open and I see light, almost immediately followed by darkness as a wave of pain washes over me once more.

I turn onto one side, hoping to assess the true nature of the wound and what I see makes my shoulders shake not with tears but with an odd kind of laughter. I knew I was going to die from the moment my name was called at the Reaping, I just didn't think it would hurt so much. In some strange way I find the humor in that where normally none would be found. My shoulders shake with pained chuckles as everything around me blurs for the final time.

I would have been happy to have that as the last sound I ever heard, my own laughter, but somewhere within that there is the telltale blast of the cannon that sends my thoughts spiraling into nothingness.

* * *

_**Heath Carlisle, District Nine**_

_**Sheria Maurell, District Nine**_

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be**_** My Chemical Romance.**_

**Song: **_**Ghost of You**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. Deaths will be notified there. **

**I am terribly sorry to the creators that have lost their tributes, I do hope that you will stick around to see the progression of the story. If not then that is okay too and I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Characters were killed based on personality, storyline and of course whether or not their creator reviewed. Hopefully no hard feelings if your character is gone. **

**Audi and Megan, so sorry about both of your wonderful tributes. I really adored this alliance but I wasn't quite sure what to do with either of them.**

* * *

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**Which POV stood out the most and why?**_

_**Opinions on the new Juniper/Veralidaine alliance?**_

* * *

**I am sorry that I am late, but I have some more bad news unfortunately. I will be leaving for a rather long summer program for about five weeks in less than a week. I have not determined whether or not I will have access to the internet while I am there, so I cannot promise that there will be regular updates during this time for any of my stories. If I don't update by early July just assume I am either without internet or am too busy with the program to write. I am going to try and update both SIK and this before I go, but that I cannot promise either. **

**Sorry, here's to hoping this place has internet! **


	13. Let You Down

**I'm Not Okay by My Chemical Romance **

_I never want to let you down or have you go, it's better off this way._

* * *

**Cole Grissom, 15, District Five**

My head spins, I don't know what's happening. It's like my body has gone numb, or maybe it truly has. The cold coats my fingertips and I am unable to move them any longer. Last night I went to rest freezing, but I believe it has gone beyond that now. I don't know what is supposed to come after freezing but this must be it.

I want to find my gloves, the ones that I remember stuffing somewhere after escaping from the Cornucopia, but I fear that Juniper may have them. Or even Evangeline might have taken them with her in her fatal fall. The bundle I had is of no use to me anymore, not after a wave of near-frozen water drenched it and left it to be coated in ice by the next morning. Even my uniform is covered in an immovable layer of snow and ice. I wish I had some matches, but alas any supplies I might have been able to use were taken from me in the same wave that stole my sole source of warmth.

I wish that Juniper had not left, well at least part of me does. I'm not sure why, surely she would not have been able to do anything more than I could to stop the freezing path of our bodies. I guess a part of me just doesn't want to be alone in this misery that plagues me. As selfish as it sounds some instinct buried deep inside my core wants someone to share my misfortune with. It'd be a stupid thing to wish, but my mind doesn't even seem to be secure from the encompassing ice.

Most times I believe that there is no way I could be going insane from this, my mind still thinks quickly and sharply. But some of the thoughts that pulse stronger against my brain do not sound like my own. They sound desperate, they sound hurt, they sound like someone that is on the brink of death and maybe I am.

Even though it is futile at this point I try to urge my legs to stand and take me away from here. I am surely far behind the others, not having had the desire to move on since I split from Juniper, and that can never be a good thing. My Mentor made it clear to me that to survive I would need to either fall into favour with the Capitol, which is unlikely given my age and district, or become just part of the crowd. Neither interesting nor boring was my goal from the beginning. Too interesting and you might attract unwanted attention to see how far you can stretch. Too boring and you get the same result. I got an average score, I had an okay interview, my arrival in the chariot went unnoticed as did my Reaping. All of my plans are falling to pieces because my body is broken. It's broken and no one seems to even want to fix it anymore.

I don't know if part of me wishes that someone would step in, or even if any piece of me thought someone truly would, but I feel a deep, throbbing pain that is not due to the frozen arena. I've always been rather average, no one but my grandfather really bothering to take notice or what I liked or was talented in. The truth is, I thought that familial love might be the one thing that could save me. My family is not so wealthy, neither is my district as a whole, but some part of me still somehow hoped for a savior in them. To know that these people likely had the means to save me from this suffering but did not hurts. It is painful to know that you could never be that important to anyone if they aren't willing to help you.

I knew it would be no fault of anyone from home if I were to die by the hand or knife of another tribute for what could they possibly do to save me from that fate? But from the elements? Am I really that unimportant to everyone I have ever loved that they cannot try to elevate the pain of this slow death. Is it selfish of me to think that I matter enough to be saved? Possibly. But that doesn't make it hurt any less to know that I'm not.

Another spin of my mind makes me groan in pain, or maybe this is just what it feels to slowly have the life sucked out of you. I can no longer feel any sort of movement, no more shivering, from any part of my body. All I can identify is the weak beating of my heart as it tries so hard to move the blood around my vital organs. I want to tell myself that it is stupid to even try. That it's only a matter of time before either my heart gives up entirely or the Gamemakers send something horrible to finish me off. Part of me hopes for the first but I know I have no choice in the matter. I am completely at the mercy of whoever chooses to be my ender.

My eyes open for a reason I can't even understand and I swear my heart skips beat when I see the familiar blonde head of Juniper standing just fifteen or so feet away from me. My frozen lips try to form into a smile but I'm unsure if they got that far. As soon as the thought of salvation crosses my mind it evaporates. The look on her face is that of horror as she rushes towards me. I don't know what has gotten her so worked up until my vision becomes tinted red.

I don't remember trying to close my eyes again, but the next thing I know everything goes black. The realization dawns on me just before even sound leaves me. It's finally over, some way or another it's finally all over.

* * *

**Juniper Haywood, 17, District Seven**

My scream feels foreign in my throat. The arena is never a place where you should make such noises, especially in this icy palace where it seems that one loudly whispered word could bring the world crashing down on top of you. Still, though, I scream, because she has just killed the only part remaining of the alliance I chose to left.

When the knife entered his skull he never made a sound. It wasn't like I remember seeing death in the other Hunger Games. He never screamed, cried out in pain, tried to stop the bleeding, or even flinched. The light just faded quickly from his eyes and he simply stopped living. Cole, the one that I had hoped to win should it not be fated that it be me. He can't be gone just like that, can he? It cannot be that easy to lose someone. It's like he never even wanted to live the way he just lay there waiting. I could have sworn he'd been sleeping if it weren't for the wide awake stare that contrasts hugely to the dead eyes I now see.

"What did you do?" I croak, all of the fight and detriment leaving my voice as quickly as life seemed to leave my old ally.

Veralidaine looks flustered, confused even. She doesn't know, she couldn't know. If she had known we'd been allies she wouldn't have killed him right? She wouldn't have made me see him die just like I saw Hudson and Evangeline. Please, please, make it so that she never knew.

"Cole," I whisper, cradling his head in my lap even as it leaks with a heavy flow of blood onto my uniform. I don't care, she didn't know but she did it. She killed him and maybe she did know who he was. Cole from District Five, the only member of my first alliance that still lived. Cole who is dead now by the hands of my new alliance.

"What is it? What are you-" Veralidaine stutters, clearly unsure about my outburst of sympathy for a tribute she must have never known I'd cared for. She just stands over me and Cole with the knife still gripped in her hands as I cry into his frozen hair. She doesn't know, she didn't now. Somehow that doesn't seem to make this any better. Somehow my hand still instinctively flies to the blow tube that I discovered in my backpack, darts loaded to the brim.

I release the tension in my hand. I cannot kill her. She didn't know. It doesn't make it any better on her, but she didn't know I would care so much. Veralidaine isn't the kind of person to notice alliances, how could she have been aware that hurting him would be nearly as personal as hurting me.

"C-Cole," I stutter. I want to say more, I want to tell her, to reprimand her; to shout to the sky until the ceiling of ice comes crashing down on both of us. But my voice betrays me, only speaking the name my mind cannot stop repeating over and over again.

"What?" Veralidaine looks genuinely confused, but it's so hard to make myself explain. When the words come, though, the come in rivers. Once I start to tell her the long-winded story of the alliance I failed three times over I cannot seem to stop. And she listens; the entire time she listens with Cole's blood still running across her boots.

She stutters something I cannot understand, shaking her head trying to clear it. Something of an apology comes next, but even then I cannot bring myself to say more. Somehow I already feel as though I have betrayed my alliance for the fourth time just by speaking of them and what we all went through together. Tears come in new spirals again, but just like the last ones they just freeze over my face just like Cole's did. No one can cry here, even that is a luxury we cannot be handed lest the icy water cause us further distress in staying warm.

"Why did you leave him?" She asks suddenly and my head whips back to her so fast I am surprised I didn't give myself whiplash.

"Why is that any if your business?" I hiss between clenched teeth. To think that she could try and pin Cole's death on me is enough to make me remember the weapon stowed away in my sleeve, just seconds away from use. She killed him, and now she wants me to feel his pain as if it were I who wielded the knife! Doesn't she understand that I already feel like enough of a curse on my alliance. Besides that but who's to say that my leaving was what brought this upon him. It couldn't be that.

Or could it?

"If you really cared about him why would you leave him? If he's not your ally anymore that just makes him one more tribute you should be gunning for."

My fists clench in rage, my face heating up despite the icy temperature. I want to voice my own rebuttal, to tell her that she is wrong. That I did care about him and that I left so that we wouldn't have to worry about one another. But no words come and the landscape becomes blurry with fresh tears coating it. In less than a minute I find myself sinking into my new ally's shoulder, shaking and sobbing to the rhythm of the careful pats on my back.

* * *

**Kor Epson, 18, District Ten**

"Am I a horrible person?"

I look over to Brennan who still sits awkwardly beside me. I thought he would leave by now, not just because we don't get along greatly but also because as far as I could tell his soul reason for even being in this alliance was to make an impression on Natalya. With her passing I just can't begin to imagine a reason why he would ever want to remain here with me. Truth be told, I have no idea what my plan is from here on out. I guess I never truly thought I would have to make do without Natalya or Brennen leading the way.

"No," I answer softly, unsure of my own voice now for some reason. "Just misled."

"I killed someone," he whispers and I have a feeling that even he isn't truly sure who he is talking to at this point. "Worse even I killed my own district partner."

"You thought you had to, I think we both know that you didn't want to kill her."

"But I did."

I turn my body around to face him completely now. I never had considered this, that Brennen possibly had _wanted _to kill that girl. He might be ignorant, vain, and a little bit pushy, but I never would have in a million years pegged him as the type of person that could want to kill someone. "But why?"

"When I saw her hurt Natalya, it was like the metal buzzed against my fingertips. I wanted to cause her pain, Kor, I _meant _it. After she hurt Natalya it was like I wanted to do that to her. It wasn't even an option at that point just to hurt her or to let her run. I _had _to kill her."

I swallow thickly. I've never been great at helping people, not like some thought I must be. I've always been a reserved person, rather quiet too. Not a pushover but someone who would just rather be calm and stay me instead of becoming a monster in the face of anger. No one ever asked me for advice that I didn't know how to answer. Never anything as complicated as this.

Did Brennen deserve to die now, was he a horrible person because he killed someone? Did it make it any better that he only wanted revenge for his ally? His actions were wrong, beyond any reasonable doubt it is wrong to take a life. But his intentions are not so wrong it seems. There is just about half of us still left, many of whom have likely done exactly what Brennen has. But for what reason? To live. They all want to live and so they must kill. This is the way of the Hunger Games, no matter if it's right or wrong.

"It was right and wrong," I answer finally, noting the confusion playing out on Brennen's face at my riddled words.

"I'm already confused as hell, could you just tell me straight. Do I deserve this now that I let them get to me?"

"Killing is wrong, but you and everyone else knows that already. Taking a life away is like stealing from everyone that ever loved them as well as stealing the right that that person had to living a full life," I explain and Brennen groans painfully, burying his face in his hands in a show of self-hatred. "But, it was right as in it was what you needed to do to protect yourself. It has always been said that you should look out for yourself before you look out for others around you. If you hadn't killed her it's very possible you could have been next. So you did right in doing what you had to do to keep yourself alive."

"Right and wrong," Brennen whispers.

Brennen hears it before I do, pushing me into the wall behind us before I can ever understand what is happening. Brennen glances back at me quickly, with a look of regret and guilt playing over his features, before pulling a knife out of his boot and holding it in front of himself protectively. He inches forward but before he gets far a body surges around the corner and catches him in a rough tackle. I mentally prepare myself to help him by any means necessary, feeling a weird sense of togetherness after our conversation. Before I can even lift myself off the ground I catch both Brennen and the petite figure on top of him locked in a frantic kind of conversation.

"Cecilia?!"

"Please, hide me."

* * *

**Soren Lyte, 16, District Four**

Even in the dry, frigid air of the arena I find it so much easier to breathe. The pressure that the bandages Remy dressed me in has finally been elevated, leaving me feeling freer than the sailor's songs. He says I'm doing better, not great, but better than before. I guess this is good news if he is saying it. Remy never has lied to me in the short time I've known him. Not that I know of anyway.

"Why are you still smiling?" I hear Remy's soft spoken voice inquire.

"I don't know," I answer. I know exactly why, the feeling of finally being free of my confining bandages is something so amazing. That day I thought I would die as I stumbled around with blood seeping through my fingers. Look at me now. Not only am I still alive, but I am part of an alliance. One that doesn't ignore me or try and be rid of me for their own lustful visions. Who would have thought, I could actually have something like this after everything seemed to be going south for me. I guess my mentor was right about that, anything can happen in here.

Remy just smiles at me. It's not as carefree as the ones he had when he was caring for me. It's like with the healing he had something to think about, and now with me better there's nothing left for him. I know that feeling of helplessness all too well. It's how I felt every second I was alone with my alliance. Does he feel the same way? I can see the fashion that things are done in this alliance, Vienna and Zander are the power team. They make all the decisions and he just goes along with it. I would have though my new ally weak, if I had not done the same thing just days earlier.

"This is crazy," I say suddenly, unsure even where the words had come from. It's true, though. This is crazy, ludicrous that I could actually be in here. Just months ago if anyone would have told me that I would right now be fighting for my life with a bunch of kids my age I never in a million years would have believed them. Funny how in a matter of days everything you know can be completely flipped upside down. One day I'm living back in District Four, a normal enough kid trying to figure out whether I'm going to get my quota for the day while still having enough time for homework. The next my name is called in a random lottery and I'm being shipped off to somewhere I've only ever seen on television. Being told that within weeks I could be dead.

I never took them seriously either. It was just like if someone had told me a few months ago. The words were there and everyone else believed them, but I guess a part of me is still waiting for someone to jump out and tell us all that this is nothing but a practical joke. Even after seeing the blood and feeling the pain I had in the past few days, it still isn't real to me. I think that the moment this all really will process for me, I'll either be already dead or close to it.

"I know, you're recovery went perfectly. One second you're drenched in blood and now you're sitting up as if there hadn't been a slice in your side a few days ago. You're really lucky you know?"

"Yeah," I say dismissively. "But I didn't mean that exactly."

"I know," he says and gives me a half-smile.

It's silent again, that tends to happen a lot when I'm alone with Remy. He's one of the most polite people I have ever met but either Capitol kids just aren't that talkative or he's different than them in this aspect as well. It honestly wouldn't surprise me if I found out that he was adopted by some Capitolites from one of the districts. He just has that sheepish, mature demeanor about him, something I never in my wildest thoughts would have likened to someone growing up in the Capitol. I guess not everyone has to follow the stereotypes, even if those are proven to be nearly one hundred percent true.

"Do you think I'm a burden," I ask before it dawns on me how stupid the question is. Of course I am. I'm the reason that they have decided they can't move on. It is because of me that the food they collected might not last long enough. It's my fault that there is so much arguing about whether or not they should leave me and go on. "I mean, like-"

"Do you want my honesty?"

I look directly at him and his eyes pierce into my skin like shattered glass. All of a sudden the sheepish boy is gone and I see someone else, someone so different I have to look a second longer to make sure it's actually still him. Something about the way he looks at me makes me squirm and I almost force myself to say no. Before I can consciously decide, though, the word escapes my lips. "Yes."

"Ever since you came here, Zander started getting stressed, Vienna isn't herself, we're running low on food much more quickly than planned, you've made it so we can't move on, and I have had to use nearly half of our medical supplies to keep you alive," I shrink back in my seat of ice, each comment hitting me like a slap in the face but Remy's expression never wavers to anger. Just when I think he's finally done he speaks again. "But I'm glad."

"You're, you what?" I stutter.

"I'm glad," he repeats. "For that time between you and Seanna, I thought it would be like this until another death shook us. Them making decisions and me being their loyal little dog. I don't want that, Soren. I don't want to just wait until I die so they can move on, but I didn't have many other options before now."

"What's so different now?" I sigh, surprised by the mere sound of his voice. In all the times I have seen him with Zander and Vienna I have never seen him so passionate about anything. He always seemed so detached, so happy to serve and so polite in doing everything for them. This is a different tribute, and he doesn't even realize how glad I am that he is.

"Now I have someone to talk to without feeling the need to end every sentence with 'Sir' or 'Ma'am'," he chuckles and the face is back to what it always is. A half smile that makes anyone who looks at him think he has not but a care in his rich little head. Now, though, I feel like I have a new perspective. Now I see not only detachment, but something I could only think to call sadness.

* * *

**Remington Flores, 15, Capitol**

"Oh," he says and I can hear the disappointment almost dripping from his voice. I keep trying but I just can't do it, I can't talk badly about my alliance members for long enough to do something about it. I can't make myself stand up to anyone, not even when my life might very well depend on it. Soren seems so eager to help me, so happy to jump in and then I ruin it all. I can't do it. I just _can't_.

"Remy!" I hear Zander calling and I don't dare dally. I jump up as if something had burned me and scurry over to where him and Vienna face each other with cheeks bright as poppies. One glance back at Soren tells me that he is stunned by my frantic leave, but all I feel is relief. I don't want to betray my alliance, I just don't want what my parents did to me to keep burdening upon me. It's their fault that I am the way I am. There is only them to blame for my polite, spineless nature and I hate that. I hate that I can do nothing no matter what I wish to be, no matter _who _I wish to be like.

By the time I am within distance for them to see me I can tell something is up. Both of them had been relatively relaxed since last night. I left before I had heard much but as long as it calmed them I was grateful. Now it seems that this effect has been undone, both of their teeth are as clenched as their fists and I don't dare take one step further after they notice me. I try and hold any discrepancies within me but despite this my voice still comes out in nothing more than a whisper. "Yes?"

"We're leaving," he hisses. "Now."

"No, you're not," Vienna counters before turning an accusing finger to Zander. "You can't make him do whatever you want, he is human too!"

"He'll do what he knows will keep him safe, all you have done for him is encourage him to use medicines we might need later and stay in one place for far too long," Zander half-shouts and half-whispers. "You've done nothing but nearly get him killed."

"All I have done is keep him sane! If it were up to you he would have been moving and paranoid and in Panem only knows what kind of shape by now!" She shrieks, all regard for being silent flying away in the chilly wind. "You only ever care about yourself, Zander! No one else but yourself!"

"This is ridiculous, I am done!" Zander throws his hands up in frustration. He turns to leave before he grabs his bag and turns it onto his shoulder. His footsteps make deep, crunching sounds in the ice as he storms away. It would almost be humorous, for no reason other than his short stature making him look more like a pissed off dwarf than someone who could pose any kind of danger to anyone. Except it's not funny in the least, because just before he rounds the corner a glisten of metal whizzes past my head just seconds after his hand reveals a flat wooden piece. He takes aim with the slingshot again but a flash of emotion crosses his face and he stuffs it away again. Haunting words hiss in both of our ears just before he turns tail and storms off. "He never deserved to live."

Once he is out of sight I can feel my face changing from the fear of being killed by someone I put near full trust in to utter confusion. I know that Vienna must be thinking the same thought, and our minds arrive at the same idea at the same time as our heads snap backwards to the sickening boom of a cannon.

Just far enough away that we didn't hear the metal piece hit him lays Soren, throat literally squirting blood from a small hole in his flesh. My stomach turns at the sight and I feel all warmth retreat from my cheeks. Vienna turns to me with a horrified expression and I attempt to say something, but the words come out only as jumbled gurgles and the phrase is forgotten. I sway on my feet and Vienna catches me and lowers me to the ground, close enough that Soren's blood is flowing over the snow beneath my shoulder, or maybe that's just my imagination.

I try and say something again, my mind not even understanding what I want to say but feeling the need to just do something. Unidentifiable sounds are the only thing that seem to flow from my lips, and Vienna shushes me with a delicate finger put to my lips. Tears drop from her eyes and splash on my face, but I barely even feel them because most of my skin has simply gone numb. My lips continue to move but I don't hear any of the sounds they make until my eyes flutter closed to blackness. The sounds finally then form a word that I can recognize.

_Soren._

* * *

_**Cole Grissom, District Five**_

_**Soren Lyte, District Four**_

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be**_** My Chemical Romance.**_

**Song: **_**I'm Not Okay**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. Deaths will be notified there.**

* * *

**I am terribly sorry to the creators that have lost their tributes, I do hope that you will stick around to see the progression of the story. If not then that is okay too and I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Characters were killed based on personality, storyline and of course whether or not their creator reviewed. Hopefully no hard feelings if your character is gone. **

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

**_What do you think has happened with Cecilia?_**

**_Guesses on deaths/ plots? _**

**_Any thoughts on improvements I should make at all?_**

* * *

**Sorry to everyone that I didn't update before I left. I got very busy and then I am now doing a French Immersion Program until August 2nd so writing well in English is super hard for me right now. I hope you are not too disappointed with the quality, I didn't find it terrible but who knows? It has been a while.**

**Also, a note to everyone waiting on SIK, it will be a while yet because I have been working almost exclusively on this chapter. I will try and have it updated as soon as I can and from then on be on somewhat of a schedule.**

**Until next time,**

**Olive**


	14. I Don't Love You

**I Don't Love You by My Chemical Romance**

_When you go would you have the guts to say_

_"I don't love you like I loved you yesterday"?_

* * *

**Grace Willow, 17, District Five**

I hate it when the darkness lifts. It's too bright in this place during the day, and where I am now holds no crevices for my friends to hide in to be with me. I feel deserted in a place full of cold and fluffy white snow. Deserted and freezing, so cold.

I shiver again and run my bare hands up and down my arms. My gloves were lost in the disaster that took all the rest of my supplies. Everything taken from me, well everything except for one thin dagger, now far too cold to so much as grasp. Not that I should even want to hold it, but for some reason I do now. That's weird because before this week I never would have known what to do with it, but instinct proves stronger than knowledge sometimes. I yearn to hold it in front of me like a shield to keep me safe from everything the Capitol and the other tributes could think to throw at me. If only it didn't hurt so much to touch it with my already frozen fingers.

When I can't stand it any longer I sit down and hold my blue hands in my lap, pressed between my chest and knees to try and move some sort of warmth into them. It doesn't work well, but soon enough I have the tiniest bit of feeling in them and this time I have plans for it. I can't last much longer if my hands were to become permanently numb. I need new gloves, or at least something like them. My plan isn't perfect, but it's worth a try. No one will blame me for trying things in here, and for that I can almost be thankful.

I unzip the insulated jumpsuit I've been in since the Launch room and the chill instantly cuts through me. I very nearly abandon my idea and zip back up and pull up my hood so that I can continue my search for a safe corner in this place. Away from the ice and snow, even though I am fully aware this is just a childish wish. Everyone up to the Launch told me that the Games would be the hardest thing I would ever experience, even those scary people that wore too much makeup and smiled too often told me it would be an honor to come out in one piece. Even after I thought I prepared myself for the worst, this was a shock. Still is a shock to my entire body. It makes me feel different and not in a good way. All I want to do is close my eyes and picture myself back at home in my room with my friends to talk with all night on my bedroom walls. With everything I am made of I just want to be able to wake up from this nightmare that with every night feels more and more like I won't ever wake up from it.

I shake my head of the thoughts, trying to concentrate all of my energy on what I need to do. I'm fully aware of the chilly air surrounding my arms and stomach as the jumpsuit slides down to my hips, leaving me in just a tight fitting shirt that does nothing to halt the cold, but I do my very best to ignore it. All of my brain power right now focuses on me being somewhere else. The warmest place I can think of, the heart of one of the power stations where radiation pulses within each cell of the building. Yes, it's warm there. I'm in a powerhouse; the arena doesn't exist right now. Not until I'm finished what I have to do.

I have barely gotten my knife out from its holster in my belt before a low rumbling sound interrupts my work and I risk the notion of looking up, the very thing that probably saved my life. My entire world shakes as long rods of pointed ice descend down upon me, one catching me on my arm and causing me to screech in pain.

I'm up and running as fast as I can up a set of icy stairs before I can even understand what's going on. The ice is slippery, though, which I had already figured out a long while ago. I slip on the fifth or sixth step and land badly on my back with another pained sound. My breath catches in my throat as I open my eyes to see the wrong end of an ice point coming straight down at me. I roll out of the way in the very last second and I'm amazed that it didn't even touch me.

Just as I am about to get to my feet something pulls me back down to the floor and I think of the worst. Some sort of beast made of white here to devour me? Another tribute that has seen that I am in trouble and has decided to risk killing me themselves? A million possibilities must flash through my mind before I find the courage to look behind me. In two waves relief and horror rush over me. The relief coming from the fact that none of the things I imagined are pulling at me. The horror coming from the realization that the very ice point that nearly killed me is currently pinning my half-shed jumpsuit into the icy floor.

Without a second to think about it I have whipped out my knife and slashed the top half of my jumpsuit from the rest, freeing myself and leaving me scrambling to find my footing. I run for a good thirty feet or so before I realize that the thundering sounds of ice on ice have halted and once again the arena is silent. Remembering my abandoned clothing I inch back towards the site where I had almost met my fate. All over the ground are at least two or more dozen ice points all deeply embedded in the ground. I find the one that hold back my clothing and try heaving the ice off of it before just deciding to cut around it to free the material.

Then, holding the scraps of fabric close to me, I scurry back up the way I came. Freezing with a new passion I come across another little cave and crawl inside. Hugging the ragged thing to me I fall in something of a slumber, with nothing close to sweet dreams to greet me as I shiver.

* * *

**Rict Green, 18, District Seven**

I creep along the walls of the arena, making good time like I have all this time. I feel pretty stupid not even knowing where I'm going or if I will ever get there, but the feeling of self-made wind on my face calms me down. Makes the red in my vision a little less bright.

I don't know what's happening to me. I want to believe that something is controlling me, something sinister that has made me do the things I have done that I cannot even bring myself to so much as mention in my thoughts. But I know it's me and there's no escaping it. I could lie to Santanna when I said I would try and keep her safe back in the Capitol. I could lie to the entire nation during the interviews when I told them how I didn't really have any experience in dealing with things like I would have to in here. I could lie to all those people with ease and a smile on my face but can't do it to myself. No matter what I always know the truth about me, and I hate that. I hate that there is someone in the world that knows what I actually am, or who I actually am. I can't even hide from myself and yet I can hide from a whole country.

What am I even saying?

I shake my head as I continue on. I think I'm way ahead anyone else but I could be wrong because I truly have no idea who I am. Most of these tunnels look like they lead us up, but sometimes I swear I'm walking back down to the ground until I couldn't even tell you which way is up anymore. I think I'm ahead but it's just as likely that I am very far behind, though that even would be preferable to being in the middle where speeding up or slowing down would mean seeing another tribute. That's when it becomes impossible to resist. When they're so close that I can almost feel them breathing and their heart beating as if it were my own.

I promised myself that I wouldn't release myself from this thin shell that keeps me and the rest of the world so safe, but it's gone. My sanity and morals with it. The only thing I can hope is that I win, then maybe I have the chance to die as someone better than myself. I don't want to die a monster, but I don't think I have much of an option.

The next corner I take without even looking first. Nothing has happened so far that I cannot handle, I doubt anything will. It hasn't been quiet for me, that's for sure. I don't think I have to worry about them thinking I'm not pulling my weight in entertainment.

But then again, I could be wrong.

As soon as my foot hits the ice I know that something is wrong. Something deep inside me can feel the pulse of it even before my mind can begin to do anything about it. There's someone else here. That I can say without the slightest doubt in me. And they're coming quick.

I don't have time to hide, not that I truly believe that I would have should I have had the chance. I stand tall with my axe fixed firmly to my side like a third arm; an extension of me that goes further than skin deep. I raise it in preparation as a mighty roar fills my ears and makes my throat go dry.

From around the corner a huge, pure-white beast rears towards me with giant padded paws stomping through the ice hard enough to leave indents as big as my head. Its eyes are nothing but black marbles deeply into the thick white fur and they stare at me with mindless fury that shocks me into a stupor. It's exactly the look I recognize from my own eyes in the polished walls just before I ran from dying form of the District Nine girl.

It takes all of my strength to snap out of the trance and I lift my axe towards the thing's face just seconds before its snapping jaws and shredding claws touched my flesh. It lets out a pained roar as rusty colored blood runs down the side of its head, but other than that second of pause it doesn't let up in the least bit. It charges at me with newfound fury, this time knocking me to the ground with powerful arms. My head bangs against the ice and I see stars, but I'm still conscious enough to remember my weapon, which I slice firmly upwards to the sound of two different kinds of animalistic screams. One from the dying animal and the other from my own lips.

The beast throws its head back and forth in its last dying moments and I know that if anything were to get in its way it would have still taken it down easily. I flatten myself against the ice as paws pound beside my head, one hitting me in the chest and taking the breath from my lungs. I close my eyes and hope, wish so hard that the animal is dying and not just newly finding its rage. With every whip of its head I feel it becoming less likely, that is until it stops moving altogether. Finally it slumps down to one side with one enormous paw and half of its head resting on my chest.

I lie there out of breath and blinking my eyes wildly, half of me expecting to hear a cannon sound at the beast's death but of course there is none. Finally I get up and though my head spins and aches something terrible I am unharmed beyond major bruising. It takes half of my energy to throw the body off of me and the rest to lift myself back up to my feet. In the moment before I continue onward I remember my axe still buried in the thing's throat and I retrieve it with a sickening crush of bones and squirt of blood.

I look down at my axe and a laugh bubbles in my throat, no matter the gravity of the situation. Another wild animal lying at my feet, another layer of blood to add to my weapon, another life to add to the ones I have taken to save my own.

* * *

**Cecilia Howlite, 16, District One**

"He's coming, he's coming!" I say, my words coming in nothing more than hollow squeaks and quick breaths. Brennen holds on to my shoulders loosely, as if he is scared I might try and run off but still wants to be gentle. I don't even have enough sense about me to feel the comfort in his touch, I just need to get away. I just need him to help me because I don't think I can be alone anymore but I don't want to be near _him._

"Who? Who? Cecilia, who's coming?" Brennen asks me over and over, but by the way he looks firmly over me I can tell he already knows who I am talking about. The other boy who Brennen must have been allied with stands by with his eyes searching everywhere at once, not knowing whether to get involved but wanting to because I don't think he knows what else to do at this point.

"Obsidian," I whimper, pushing my head into his chest and feeling his arms wrap around me automatically. There's nothing romantic on the gesture, just an attempt to comfort someone that has seen her fate and has run from it.

"No he's not, I'll kill him first," he hisses and I know he means it but somehow that doesn't make me feel any less frantic. He won't kill him because Obsidian is going to kill him first. He's gone mad. He's coming for me and he won't stop coming until he gets his way with me. I never thought I could be so terrified of someone I thought I knew, but the fear in me is all too real.

It peaked last night as Obsidian put his arms around me in a way that felt nothing like it does right now with Brennen. He whispered in my ear like he always does, I knew that he wanted to be more than just allies but I thought I wouldn't have to deal with that ever seeing as his feelings for me could never become reality. Both of us knew that we weren't going to end up together. After all there is only one winner and it was unlikely to be us. Everyone knows that death is no place for romance, because well no one quite knows what death is.

I can still feel the sickening breath on my cheek as he whispered his plans to me in the dead of night. He couldn't see my fear behind the mask of darkness, but I think he knew because he left it after he said it. He left it all alone until he thought I fell asleep, and then he kissed me when he thought I couldn't know. He fell asleep in a ball beside me, his breathing becoming even and calmed, but all I could hear was the fate he planned for us.

"_I love you, and I want to be with you forever, Cecilia. I know how we can do that. Don't worry about anything, I won't make it hurt, sweetheart. Nothing will ever hurt again because we'll be together forever with no one to tear us apart." _

That's when I knew I had to run, or he was going to kill me.

As soon as I knew he was completely asleep I scrambled to my feet, leaving my backpack behind because it was still clutched in his creeping hands. He must have known I would run, or at least thought about it enough to think to hold onto me as I slept, or maybe it was his way of showing affection, I don't know. But he had made the mistake of only holding onto something easily able to be shed and I had to take the chance, or I wouldn't get another.

I ran and ran, no idea where I was going and unable to see by much more than the shining reflections of the ice that led me this way and that. I knew vaguely that I was going up by the slope of the ground, but beyond that I didn't have enough right mind to care. I just had to get away and I didn't care. It was simply by good fortune that I ran into Brennen and his ally. But I knew he was coming, there's nowhere to hide from him. Not in here where it seems like the Capitol is looking for a tragic love story to report on.

A cracking of ice fills my ears and I whimper loudly into Brennen's jumpsuit. By the way he holds me tighter I understand that it wasn't just his ally or himself shifting around on the floor. It was someone or something else. He knows there's something there, but only I know that it must be him. He would have known by now that I had left. It wouldn't be hard to catch me by following the path I took. This place is all tunnels and I remember no forks in the road I took. No, he'd be coming for me, and I had made it far too easy for him.

It's silent again and still I can't so much as bring myself to lift my head from the protection of Brennen's warm body. The only sound I can hear is the beating of his heart in his chest and the stillness in the air around me that feels as loud as a thousand eating drums. I hear far off breathing which I assume to be Brennen's ally, but there's something else there too. I can't quite pinpoint it but the sound makes me even more restless. Something needs to happen or else the wait alone might cause me to lose my mind.

Then it happens, just like that I am pushed away from Brennen by his own arms and sent sprawling into a pile of snow and ice. I spit it out of my mouth and look up to see the face of fear starring at me with eyes as cold as the ice I lay helplessly in. A knife perched calmly in his hand to match the one in Brennen's belt which I know is useless to him right now.

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**Brennen Dwyloe, 17, District Two**

He hits me but I'm ready for him before he does, already having thrown Cecilia from me to keep her out of reach from him. She didn't even have to say the name and I knew it was him. The boy she was always with in training, her own district partner that I thought seemed so creepy and oddly possessive of her. I don't even know what's going on with her and him, but I am willing to bet it's much bigger than the old he-said-she-said argument. The fear in her eyes and the crazy in his are enough to tell me that much.

Before I can think of my next move the glint of his knife catches me by surprise as it descends towards me and I, being the right thinker that I have always been, throw my hands out in front of me to catch it before it can slice my face in two.

The pain is like nothing I could ever so much as imagine as a deep cut in the palm of my hand sends my head reeling. It takes me several seconds to react but in that short time there are already pieces of skin peeling from my hands in chunks as District One flails out at whatever he can reach. I scream from the bottom of my throat and knock him away from me, sending another plight of pain onto my hands. I do my best to push the pain away from me and concentrate on what I'm doing. Saving Cecilia from this poor excuse of a human being.

Using my hands to punch him is unthinkable, the blood pouring from them making my head still spin like crazy, and so I knee him in the stomach and again in the groin, lashing out at him as best I can. He brings his arms up to protect himself but I still manage a few good hits in, that is until he gets over the initial surprise and delivers a hard punch directly into my jaw.

I see stars and darkness eats at the edge of my consciousness as my body tries to pull me into a safe state. But it's only instincts, and they're wrong right now. I cannot stop fighting or this monster will win and he'll have not only me but Cecilia as well. A new fire burns in my gut but I just can't move. I'm finished, he wins.

I notice that he hasn't stabbed me yet. I strain my eyes to see him and only then become aware of the sounds of battle going on around me. Just three or four feet from where I lay, Kor has become involved himself. He parries One's knife with another that looks oddly familiar, and when I pat my belt I realize why. It's my own knife, which must have fallen out of its place in my belt. He's using my knife. The boy who couldn't stand the thought of murder even in defense is fighting for me.

I guess I never really thought of him as an ally, only as competition for Natalya's affections. But then here he is trying to save me and the girl I think I care for. One wasn't coming after him, he didn't have to fight. It would have been easy for him to slip away and he stayed. He stayed to help me.

With a stab to the gut, One falls in a heap near the side of the wall where Cecilia still cowers in a state I can only describe as complete and utter fear. I stand, all my injuries momentarily forgotten as I watch Kor breathing heavily with my knife still and bloodstained in his grasp. He looks shocked and my first thought is to hug him. He saved me. He saved me when he said he probably never would fight at all and yet he fought for me and Cecilia. His eyes come up to meet mine but this time they're blank, not the caring brown eyes I remember hating so completely. Kor's entire body shakes as if it has only just remembered the cold around it. Then his lips move and he speaks.

"I-I," he stutters. "I didn't want you to fight him alone."

"Thank you," I whisper, though I know the words can't even begin to describe how much I truly have to be grateful to him for.

He nods and all is silent for just a moment before heavy breathing and a bone-chilling scream fill the chilly air. Kor's eyes widen as he spots something behind me and I whirl around just in time to see that One has stood up with the help of the wall and is standing with Cecilia's neck in one hand, and his knife in the other. Blood drips from the wound at his stomach but he only seems vaguely aware of it. I will my feet to move, to do something but they will not. I can only watch and listen as he speaks the terrifying words into her frightened ear.

"I p-p-promised you, t-that they'll never tear u-us apart."

And with those words his knife slices deeply into her throat just above where his hand holds her. Her eyes, wide and childish, roll immediately to the back of her head that now hangs only by a thin flap of skin that is all that remains of her neck. One smiles down at her corpse, kissing her gingerly on the forehead as her cannon fills the deadly silence.

Then, as if in slow motion, he falls to the ground. His body convulses for what could be hours, minutes, or even mere seconds before he too goes still, Cecilia's corpse still hugged to his chest like a ragdoll. His cannon joins hers and Kor places a shaking hand on my shoulder that tells me it's time to leave. There's nothing more we can do to help her.

* * *

_**Obsidian Nixon, District One**_

_**Cecilia Howlite, District One**_

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**The artist theme for this story will be**_** My Chemical Romance.**_

**Song: **_**I Don't Love You**_

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**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. Deaths will be notified there.**

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**I am terribly sorry to the creators that have lost their tributes, I do hope that you will stick around to see the progression of the story. If not then that is okay too and I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Characters were killed based on personality, storyline and of course whether or not their creator reviewed. Hopefully no hard feelings if your character is gone. **

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

**_They're coming down in numbers, who do you WANT and THINK will make the final five out of Brennen, Zander, Vienna, Grace, Rict, Juniper, Kor, Veralidaine, and Remy?_**

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**I am happy to say that I have returned from my vacation (which those of you reading SIK already know), but also sad to say that I will likely miss an update next week as I am going away again. I will do my very best but you know, life happens. I'm not by any means abandoning this or SIK and updates should get better when school is in since I always look for an excuse to put off my schoolwork.**


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